


Missing

by neichan



Category: NCIS, The Sentinel, Without a Trace
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Crossover, Domestic Discipline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2007-03-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: The world is a very different place. Guides and Sentinels are precious resources to be controlled and distributed where they are needed. Someone is kidnapping Guides. And the race is on to find out why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: This bunny was stimulated/simulated when I read a RR fic posted on WWOMB. I have done all I can to change it so it was not taking from any of the original work from those authors. However the idea was definitely from that fic. And I'd like to give them credit. The fic "Lost to Tomorrow" is on WWOMB....the authors credited are Lokemele, Kate R, TexasAries, PEJA. Please read their fic, and let them know what you think! I asked for and got the RR authors OK before I wrote this....  


* * *

Jack Malone was not having a good day, or a good week, or a good month. In fact his entire summer, all ten weeks so far, had not been good at all. He was living in his own version of professional hell. His ear caught Sam's raised voice, followed by Martin's exhausted response. Add personal hell to that assessment he thought. But in this case professional trumped personal, so far.

 

Guides were missing. Ten in the DC and it's surrounding area, one for each of the blisteringly hot weeks. More were missing from around the country, though no other area had so many in one region. Once discovered to be missing, not one had been found, either dead or alive. There had been no sightings, no calls. No ransom demands. Which made a sick kind of sense. No rational kidnapper, if there was such a thing, would hope to evade the rabid pursuit that would follow discovery of their identity, and enjoy any ransom if it were paid.

 

No trace, no clues. The FBI was on the case. Had been since day one. Since the first frantic phone call that heralded the first missing Guide, and mobilized Jack's crack team.

 

Without a damn thing to show for it. In all this time, in ten weeks. There wasn't even a motive that they'd been able to pin down with assurance.

 

Yesterday, Guide number ten had vanished from the District. And there was nothing that could be done to stop it. She'd been under surveillance by three Sentinels. The two men and one woman found unconscious, without memory of the incident. Circular burns gave mute testimonial to what had happened. The tracking anklet that she'd been wearing, marketed aggressively, and expensively as the perfect addition to assure Guide safety, was found a block away. Crushed by a boot heel or a car, or some hard object. Just laying in an alley, mutely mocking those who searched. It had been sliced from her, and the only good news was the lack of blood.

 

Someone had managed to deliver a low voltage burst-shock to all three Sentinels of the protective detail, overwhelming their wide open senses as they scanned for trouble, causing them to zone, then collapse, unfortunately, and likely deliberately, interfering with their short term memory and recall. Even under hypnosis by a skilled Guide, no details could be dredged up by any of the Sentinels who had been on watch. Sentinels passing by made mention of a flash of light, bright, but nothing more.

 

Such tools as had been used on the last three Sentinels to incapacitate them, were more tightly controlled than automatic weapons. That was almost the only real clue they had. Who ever had abducted this Guide, and most likely the rest, had some serious connections. Jack knew if he tried to get one of the burst-shockers he'd end up arrested and on his way to lock up. Even if he offered top dollar to an arm's dealer. It was too risky for the dealers to traffic in.

 

Considering the value of Guides, their rarity, the discrepancy of the numbers of Guides and the number of Sentinels, which was reported each quarter along with the GNP figures, the cases were attracting a lot of attention, with the public demanding that they be found. Alive and unharmed. If Guides were lost, if no one was punished, the public would lose the goodwill and services of Sentinels. That would make life hard. Crime would skyrocket. Goods become more expensive.

 

The local Sentinel Guilds were demanding blood, justice, enraged by the loss to their valued numbers. The local Sentinels would be more effected than others further away, of course. In the rest of the country the rate of abductions had not risen by any great statistical significance. Each year a Guide or two could be expected to be kidnapped in DC. But not ten in so short a period of time. Which led Jack to believe whoever was taking them was probably based near DC.

 

What he couldn't figure out, was why they were being taken. And who. Because it was obviously a well coordinated operation. His senses were humming. But he still had no answers.

 

Sentinel Guilds had appointed themselves watchers over the safety of Guides since the beginning of recorded history. And losing ten around here in eleven months was a smear on their pride. A threat to their own existence. The DC Guild Officers were beyond angry. Afraid that the next election would be their last. Afraid that the scarcity could cause out and out rationing, not merely sharing of Guides. A very real threat.

 

Guides were life to Sentinels. More precious than money, power or gold. More valued than children, spouses or...or...anything. Guides were present on Maslow's hierarchy of need as far as Sentinels were concerned. Right down there with the building blocks of life. Food and water. Well before clothing or shelter. In fact, for short periods of time, thirsty and hungry and cold Sentinels would forgo food and water in order to chose a Guide when it came to survival needs. Without Guides, Sentinel life ceased.

 

Without Guides, Sentinels fell into madness. Or if they were lucky, drifted off into peaceful zones until their hearts failed, their breathing stopped and they died.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Jack Malone stood in front of the case board reading the few facts they'd gleaned from the case of the last Guide known to have disappeared. Number ten. Sara Jones. Tall. Attractive. Brown eyed, sweet faced, not that that mattered when it came to Guides. This one had been female. Jack gazed down at her picture, feeling the usual stirrings any Sentinel would feel for a Guide. He wanted to protect her. He hated that he'd not been able to. It was the same feeling he'd had when he'd seen each of them posted to his case board as they went missing.

 

Six women, four men. Young, all of them, still growing, still with the vast majority of their lives yet to live. None older than twenty. Dark hair, light, blue eyes, brown, no one thing tying them together except their ages.

 

Jack hated it. Hated he couldn't find them. It ate at him. There had to be something. Something he was not seeing. Some trail of crumbs he'd missed.

 

A Sentinel would bond the ugliest, meanest, most cantankerous Guide on the planet. And protect him or her with his life. Jack knew that for a fact. He'd lived it when he was younger.

 

These ten were all beautiful though. Young, their temperaments kindly, friendly, open, according to friends, family and the lurking Sentinels around them. They were of many different ethnicities and varied widely in looks and coloring. Desirable. Literally worth their weight in gold in some third world countries. In fact for these ten, offered in a group, governments could very well teeter, maybe fall.

 

It was Jack's job to find them, before that or any other tragedy occurred. If they did. He was more worried someone might harm them. Face it, only madmen would kidnap Guides. Only madmen would not fear the Sentinels in pursuit. Or other Sentinels, but he couldn't think that way. He couldn't let himself believe a Sentinel would be behind this.

 

There had been no demands for ransom. No whispers on the street, no rumors of auctions, silent, private or public. Not one tiny clue. Just ten young, very much in demand, very needed Guides gone. Without a trace.

 

Jack sat back on the edge of the table, facing the case board, tired. Jesus, where else could he look? What hadn't his team done? What had they missed? There had to be something....

 

The US Government, in recognition of the disastrous nature of the disappearances was forming a task force. Bringing in the best Sentinel/Guide teams from around the country and making this their priority. For once Jack didn't resent the intrusion into his case. He was out of ideas. And this case needed to be solved. The sooner the better.

 

Today a Sentinel/Guide group from Cascade, Washington was arriving. James Joseph Ellison, Brian Rafe-Karlsson, Tiikanen Rafe-Karlsson and Dr. Blair Jacob Sandburg. Three Sentinels and one Guide. Jack had their extensive files memorized. Or what parts of it he had access to.

 

Sandburg's was an open book. A brilliant child, raised by his eccentric single mother, at University by the age of fifteen. Diagnosed as a Guide shortly after receiving his Master's Degree in anthropology, aged just under nineteen at the time, followed by a second master's the next year in Sentinel studies when he was only twenty. A PhD in Sentinel Studies at twenty-two. Informally bonded to a series of Sentinels, all female, until he met the then 37 year old Ellison. Bonded formally to Ellison since then, for three years, a fifteen year difference in their ages, but they seemed pleased with each other.

 

Shortly after Ellison and Sandburg's bond registration, they'd added the future Rafe-Browns to their bonding records.

 

Blair Sandburg was given the highest praise by academic colleagues, his Police Captain, the Cascade Sentinel Guild. Which was headed by a William Ellison, James' father. The requisite yearly report by his three Sentinels was never less than glowing. Currently he had no female relationship. He was, however fertile. Jack felt a frisson of excitement, one he'd never been able to suppress. No Sentinel could be disinterested in a Guide who had the potential to reproduce. Not even Sentinels of the wrong gender to reproduce with that particular Guide. Fertile Guides were rare. He would have to give Sandburg plenty of opportunity to meet up with the few female Guides on his staff who were also still fertile.

 

Guides mating with Guides only increased the likelihood of conception by a few percentage points, so Jack would also make it known that Sandburg was fertile to the other non-Guide women in the office. Then it would be up to Sandburg if he wanted to take an interest.

 

Ellison's file was another matter. Childhood, all documented, diagnosed very early, at age ten. Adolescence. Numbers off the charts by the time he was a teenager. Every detail recorded, until he joined the army, reams of documentation. Then Jack found road block after road block. Not a word that wasn't classified. Ellison, according to his contacts in the government, had been black ops. A very scary man.

 

Back to easy access when Ellison joined the Cascade PD.

 

The Rafe-Browns, two men, Jack raised an eyebrow at that, were newly-weds. Brian, a model handsome brown haired man, lustrous dark eyes, middle height, middle weight, stunningly handsome. Tiikanen taller, broader, very black, with the traditional scars of a tribal culture on his sculpted face, long, keloided slashes on each cheek, one across his forehead, a vertical slash from his lower lip to under his chin, more on his neck, disappearing under his collar. Jack was a little surprised, with a name like Tiikanen Karlsson he'd expected a tall Nordic blond. Then he saw the two men were once immigrants from Southern Africa. And the name made more sense.

 

Gay marriage was only legal this year in the US. A national referendum. With much infighting, the matter decided only when the Sentinel Guilds put their considerable clout behind it. Married Sentinels were more stable they argued, and more open to sharing Guides. They were now deciding whether or not to support multiple marriages using the same argument.

 

Jack still hadn't decided how he felt about that. He certainly wasn't ready to marry a man, even if the Guilds were backing such unions. It seemed multiple partner marriage was the next legal challenge that was about to be fought out in the courts, with even more contention than same sex marriage. Without, if you were a Sentinel, the possibility of divorce.

 

Jack was as nervous about that one as a long tailed cat in a room full of energetically rocking grannys. His fear was not that there would be a new, voluntary choice for those interested...but that marriages would be ordered between a number of Sentinels and their Guides. Not a matter of choice.

 

To distract himself from those dismal thoughts, he turned his attention back to the men and women who would be arriving today, the other team that would assist his team. The second group. He eyed the stack of folders. Much thicker than the ones from Cascade. These Sentinels and Guides came from NCIS. A government agency.

 

They'd been studied thoroughly. Jack thought they were probably lucky not to have been dissected already. He shuddered. He couldn't count the number of exams he'd had, the vials of blood, probably added up to gallons over the years. Sperm specimens..... CT scans. Thank ghod he wasn't female, he didn't know how he'd react to that kind of exam, a pelvic, done twice a year minimum. He really felt for Sam and Elena.

 

Viv, being a Guide, had it the worst. Everyone was desperate to breed Guides. Dismayed by their apparent low fertility. And their low sex drives. No one in their right minds refused an amorous Guide. If a Guide came on to you, you did what ever the Guide wanted. The need for the Guide gene to pass on was paramount. Fidelity took a back seat. Way, way in the back. Laws protected the participants. Having sex with a Guide was not considered adultery. Could not be used in a court of law as evidence in divorce proceedings.

 

In vitro fertilization, artificial insemination, all of it had been tried in massive, mandated studies. And the fertility rate plummeted. Guides under stress, and compelled breeding programs were stressful, did not conceive. Guide apparently had to be the ones choosing their mating partners. Not scientists or geneticists. Sperm motility of male Guides dropped off to nothing in the studies, and the female Guides failed to ovulate. Nature was not willing to be tampered with when it came to Guides, it seemed.

 

Jack remembered those days. He was glad they were in the past and would never be coming back. The scientists who headed those studies had their reputations destroyed as fears of an even greater shortage of Guides loomed. The Guilds had been furious to have ~their~ Guides traumatized. No one wanted it remembered the sentinel Guilds had at one time supported the studies.

 

He'd been little more than a boy then, but Jack had never forgotten the Sentinel riots. Downtown Atlanta, near where he had been spending the summer with an aunt and her family, had nearly been wiped off the map, burned by the shouting, violent mobs. The tests had been shut down very publicly shortly afterwards.

 

Jack returned to the far more pleasant task of contemplating the other team who was on it's way.

 

The NCIS team was lead by Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Who Jack Malone knew by reputation. A formidable Sentinel. A firm disciplinarian. A man who didn't fail. His team was coming with him. His Guide, Anthony Michael DiNozzo, damn pretty for a man, Jack's brows rose, from an embarrassingly wealthy family, much in the same bracket as Martin's.

 

Two other NCIS Sentinels, Timothy Ryan McGee, and Ziva David, and a Guide who was mostly a lab rat, Abigail Scuito. Jack stared at her photo. A goth. He let himself shudder again at the very obvious black spider web that circled her throat. He didn't much like tattoos on a woman. He hoped she didn't take an interest in him. Or if she did, that she wouldn't mind if he kept his eyes closed. Then the last member of the little group. An older man, a physician, Medical Examiner, neither Sentinel or Guide. Jack blinked. Surprised. Why would they be bringing him?

 

Jack felt a momentary spike of envy that Gibbs had his own Guide. Well most of the time. This time he would be sharing his guide with a former team member who had been pulled in from other duties in NCIS. Stan Burley. Sentinel. Unbonded. A former protege of Gibbs'. Paperwork indicated Burley was going to be sharing Quarters with the NCIS team, and specifically with DiNozzo and Gibbs. Strangely the older man, Doctor Donald Mallard was also booked into that room. The second room of the suite was accommodating McGee, David, and Scuito. Just like they'd asked, they were all going to be living in very close quarters.

 

Jack swore under his breath as arguing came through the mostly closed door to his office. Damn it. Martin and Sam were at it again. Ever since they'd been paired informally it had been like this. The hope that Martin, who was attracted to the leggy blonde, would breed was the main reason Jack had not spoken of his reservations before. Viv had not wanted to approve it, being more vocal with her doubts, but the administration thought it was worth a shot.

 

Sam had asked for it, no, the right phrase was demanded it, and Martin had gone along. He hadn't been enthusiastic, that much was clear to Jack. But Martin was infatuated with Spade. So he did what she wanted. Spade, a highly sexed Sentinel was the wrong choice for Martin. Who was not highly sexed by any stretch. And when Sam became frustrated, she took it out on Martin. The whole team was suffering her bad mood. And Martin was showing signs of stress, not looking healthy at all.

 

The arguing did not cease after a few minutes. Jack stood. He'd had enough. He reached over and pressed the intercom to Viv's office.

 

"Yes, Jack?" The Guide responded, sounding mostly distracted.

 

"Need to talk with you." Jack said, trying to keep his tone neutral. Sam's voice rose in the background. There was a very short pause on the speaker phone.

 

"I can just guess why." Viv said dryly. "Come on over. I'm not busy now."

 

Jack did, carrying the folders with him, knowing it was an expected courtesy that Viv be made aware of the new teams who were arriving soon. She would want to know if there were any potential conflicts. That was Jack's secondary reason for wanting to see her. But Martin was first on his mind.

 

Jack wondered if it was more than a little selfish of him to hope Viv would agree with him and take steps to separate Sam and Martin. Danny was having trouble with his temporary attachment, and Jack himself had not found a permanent bond. Putting Martin with him and Danny would be good for the younger men and for Jack, too. Danny was the type that tried to be standoffish with the team, but who deep down was a caretaker. Martin needed TLC in the worst way.

 

Sam wasn't much for sharing or for being cuddly. Jack knew if Martin were free, that he, Taylor and Martin would be able to work something out. He also knew Sam was going to pitch a fit. So before he proposed it he was going to get Viv's take. If she was in his corner Jack just might be able to push the new arrangement through the bonding committee.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: The world is a very different place. Guides and Sentinels are precious resources to be controlled and distributed where they are needed. Someone is kidnapping Guides. And the race is on to find out why.  
  
 **Author’s Note** : This bunny was stimulated/simulated when I read a RR fic posted on WWOMB. I have done all I can to change it so it was not taking from any of the original work from those authors. However the idea was definitely from that fic. And I'd like to give them credit. The fic "Lost to Tomorrow" is on WWOMB....the authors credited are Lokemele, Kate R, TexasAries, PEJA. Please read their fic, and let them know what you think!  


* * *

Viv waited for Jack in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest, face taking on that almost motherly exasperation she was so good at projecting. When he saw that look it pretty much meant that she was about to make a decision and he, hell anyone, everyone had better listen to what she was going to say.

 

Vivian Johnson saw Jack come out of his office way down the mostly glassed in hall, and glare in the direction of the desks used by the younger members of their team. Why he looked that way was no mystery. With her door open Viv could hear Sam's furious undertone. And a distressed murmur of disagreement from Martin every now and again.

 

The tension in the younger man's voice grated across Jack's nerves. That more than the words themselves bothered him. As a Sentinel he hated to hear a Guide in distress, especially if it was the actions of a Sentinel that was causing the distress. He pondered why it didn't bother other Sentinels as much.

 

OK, no fair lumping all other Sentinels into the group. Many were careful to take care of the Guides they were lucky enough to come into contact with. But a significant number were unable to put the needs of a Guide before their own needs and desires. Jack wondered why. What had happened to make them the way they were? He was damn grateful he wasn't like Sam, or any number of other Sentinels he'd worked with in the past. Sentinels who escalated into unreasonable behavior when pressed to share a Guide, or allow a Guide any kind of autonomy at all.

 

Viv couldn't hear the exact words being exchanged, but the tone needed no interpretation. She heard Elena's voice, irritated but trying to be conciliatory. Just like Elena. Trying to hang on to her temper, when what she really wanted to do was shout, lose it. She was having trouble with Sam, at first they'd been close, developing a solid friendship at work and outside. But that had not lasted once Sam successfully courted Martin. Once Martin was her Guide, Sam wanted no other Sentinels around. Viv shook her head. She wasn't new to this, she should have done something sooner.

 

Then another voice snapped out a string of words, brittle, angry, hostile. And all the others shut up. Danny Taylor came flying around the corner, almost taking Jack out, not noticing it when Jack jumped back out of the way. Danny's shoulders were hunched tightly, up around his ears, brows beetled, his head drawn in like a tackle heading for the offensive line. His whole body screamed frustration and aggression. At least it did to a Guide. And Viv Johnson was a Guide.

 

"Danny." She made the snap decision, calling out to him. He stopped, blinking, seeing her standing in the door to her office. He flushed, his ears going red. He made a sudden, aborted movement as if to flee, but Viv's eyes were locked with his and he gave in to the command in them. Sentinels didn't run away from a Guide without a damn good reason. By that time Jack was right up on his tail anyway, and he could feel Jack's eyes fixed on the back of his head, daring him to disobey a senior agent on top of fleeing a Guide.

 

"Come in." Viv said mildly, making it an invitation. Giving the jumpy, younger Sentinel room to walk in side the office. He did, glowering, unhappy, bursting into the small space and filling it with his agitation.

 

"I can't take it any more." Danny said once he entered, slamming is palm against the far wall then bouncing back into the center of the room. Jack was on his heels. He reared back just in time to miss being hit as Danny swung around, elbows out, a second narrow escape. Spade's antics, her not so subtle tormenting of Martin, of a Guide, was pulling the team apart. Frustration over the current case wasn't helping. Time to end that extra interpersonal conflict right here and now, Jack thought trying to calm the aggressive jut of his own jaw. Tamping down his own rising hormones as he was faced with Taylor's tenuous control in the small space.

 

"I know." Viv said gently, moving between the two men, deliberately acting as a buffer. "Jack can't either." Her voice flowed over Danny's raw nerves and his shoulders lowered a fraction. But he had not yet aired all his grievances. He shook a finger at no one in particular, just letting off some of his steam.

 

"She is ragging on him from the time they get here to the minute they go home. He sits there and tries to make peace. Takes it, no matter what she says, accuses him of. Ghod's know what she is saying to him, doing to him when they are alone at home. There is no way that woman is going to listen, or treat him with respect." Danny stormed around waving his arms. The gestures lacking true rage now that someone sympathetic was listening. Viv nodded, watching him with her deceptively gentle eyes. "I'm tired of listening to her insinuate that he doesn't have more sex with her because he is getting it somewhere else."

 

Jack wasn't able to keep all of his feelings off his face at hearing that. Sentinels did not pressure Guide's into having sexual relations. Touch, contact was all a bonded Sentinel was entitled to expect. If sex was to enter into the equation, it was the Guide's choice. Spade sounded like she was dangerously close to forcing her Guide into a sexual situation he didn't want. Jack smelled Danny's rage, even a she struggled to keep his own under control.

 

"Yes." Viv nodded and let him rant. Jack, not having the safety her Guide status gave her, stayed to the side of her shelves, out of the way of the younger, gesticulating Sentinel. Jack was good at defending himself, but why buy trouble with a younger stronger, more aggressive male if it wasn't absolutely necessary? A powerful, younger male driven to the point of madness by being forced to witness the mistreatment of a Guide, and feeling he could do nothing to stop it. Jack wasn't stupid. If he was pissed, Danny was livid, probably just barely hanging on.

 

A fight between Danny and Sam would not be pretty, Viv thought. Even if they were lucky and guns weren't drawn. Viv believed in Sentinel hormones, aggression, all of that. She believed they existed, even if she didn't go through the mood swings herself. She knew Danny was near breaking, near to going primal and claiming Martin for himself, getting the Guide away from Sam, whatever it took, even wounding or killing another Sentinel, a member of his own team. The only way Viv saw to stop the disaster from taking place, was to do it herself. Her way wouldn't be violent, she had the whole weight of the FBI's authority as a Senior Guide behind her. Danny's methods would be much more violent, bloody than hers.

 

Danny had been hanging by a thread for longer than she'd noticed, distracted as she'd been with the disappearing Guides case. Being busy was no excuse, she should have noticed, intervened sooner. Taylor was hyperventilating, sweating, flexing, preparing for violence. She stepped in closer to him, using her body to contain him and his wild, out of control reactions. He needed boundaries, limits, she gave them to him, tsking under her breath, making soothing sounds while Jack watched from his safe corner.

 

Jack was one of the most in control Sentinels Viv had ever met. He was almost a Guide himself. But, he wasn't, not quite and he knew it, he knew enough not to get confrontational when it would only push things over the edge. Jack let her handle Taylor, observing her as she moved closer and closer until the young male was hemmed in, until she was up against him. Able to feel the fine tremors that rushed over and over through him. Very close to breaking.

 

Viv stroked a hand down Danny's side. Taylor muttered, hissed, a letting out of tension rather than a sound of displeasure or threat. Her touch calmed him rapidly. He was responsive, that was good. She ran her hand up and down his back. He turned towards her tentatively, waiting for her permission. And when she gave it he nuzzled her neck, pushing his face against her skin. More tremors, easing slowly as he inhaled her scent. She patted him. Comforting him. Ten seconds and he went from the brink of violence to this. She approved.

 

They didn't connect on more than a general level, Guide Johnson and Sentinel Taylor, or she would have snatched him up as soon as he'd set foot in the unit. No sexual awareness on her part. She supposed he might feel differently, but he would never make an advance on her unless she invited him. He was a good Sentinel, he was going to be one of the best, Viv could feel it. Like Jack. She almost regretted they weren't more compatible. More of a match.

 

Right now Danny was young and aggressive. But he'd mellow nicely. And one step on the path of his maturity was going to be bonding him with Martin Fitzgerald. Danny's first formally sanctioned bond through the FBI. His others had been short lived, self-initiated, and informal. He'd never been in an officially selected and recorded bond. Viv pondered that for a few more moments as she smoothed his dark hair.

 

A first bond, a serious bond should be given the maximum chance for success. It would set the stage for the rest of his life, if this bond proved short term as some inevitably did. If it was a good experience, it could make him an ideal Sentinel. Viv smiled. Like Jack. She gently set Danny away from herself and turned towards the alert older Sentinel.

 

"Sit." She waved at the chairs, took one herself, cutting Danny off when he tried for one between her and the door. Yes, very good instincts. She liked him. And it was her job to set him up in the right situation and give him her full support. Ideally she'd prefer to place him with Jack Malone for a few months. Have them live together and adapt to each other without any distractions. But, Sam and Martin's situation had to be resolved now. It couldn't wait without causing more damage to Sam, Martin, the rest of the team.

 

All the cases they dealt with were important. This one case, the case of the missing Guides...was more so. Perhaps it sounded like a cheesy modern mystery novel, but it was personal to every Sentinel agent who would be working on it. And those who worked other cases would still be watching with more than the usual interest. Every Sentinel in the building was deadly serious about the case and it's outcome. Stress levels would be through the roof. Sentinels thrived on stress, she wasn't worried about that. One kind of stress they couldn't handle...being exposed to Guides in distress. Danny needed a stable work environment. They all did. Sam Spade was not letting that happen. Even the very stable Jack Malone was being negatively affected.

 

Taking all of that into consideration, Viv made her final decision. She was going to pair Jack and Danny. Jack would stabilize and give Danny a positive, constructive role model. And putting Martin into a stable Sentinel partnership, showing the young Guide how things should work...it was a benefit Martin had never had. He'd been shuttled around since he hit his age of majority, from one influential Sentinel approved of by his family to the next. Now Spade. Viv sighed. The beautiful blond was not the right choice.

 

"I am going to pair you with Jack." Viv said, gently to Danny, moving her head so that she was looking directly into his still faintly wild eyes. He flinched, resisting the automatic urge to glance over at Jack. Viv heard Jack sigh. More a sound of acceptance, of relief that the decision had been made, than one of resignation. Danny relaxed a fraction, daring to look now that he'd heard Jack's sigh.

 

It was almost shy the way the younger man looked at the older one. Jack returned the look steadily, making sure he let no uncertainty or rejection show. This was too important to risk starting off on the wrong foot. Sure he was going through a bad divorce, his wife had left taking the girls with her. Sure he didn't want to get involved in a serious relationship right now. And he wasn't really attracted to men when he had a choice, but none of that could be permitted to touch on this.

 

He actually agreed with Viv's decision. Danny needed stability almost as much as Martin. A young male Sentinel could learn a lifetime of bad habits fast. Breaking hormone mediated bad habits was hard work. Sam was a good example. It wasn't her fault she was in the shape she was in. Someone hadn't taken the proper care with her all the time she was growing up, developing into the Sentinel she was today. Jack wasn't going to let that happen to Taylor, too. He smiled at Danny when he met the uncertain glance.

 

"I agree." Jack said softly. "Kathy's left me the house unless...." Jack didn't know where Taylor lived. Maybe he had a great place he didn't want to give up, one big enough for the three of them. They had to share a residence for Martin's sake, no question about that, but...

 

"That would be fine. My apartment isn't in that great of a neighborhood. I'd give it up for something better in a heartbeat." Danny said shyly. He bit his lip, and Jack's heart fluttered unexpectedly at the tiny, vulnerable gesture. "Are you sure?"

 

Jack was sure. Doubly so now that Taylor was asking for his opinion and guidance. It was the right thing for him and for the other man. They'd make a good home for Fitzgerald. They both wanted that. Jack didn't even have to ask to know how Danny felt about Martin. He liked him as a man and as a Guide. Danny was young and energetic and he was filled with a brightness Jack hadn't seen in a long time. Jack himself was far more cautious, serious, and grounded. Together they'd be a good match for Martin.

 

"I can't work like it is now." Danny said looking at Jack then past him out into the open area where the junior agents worked, speaking to Jack as his Senior Sentinel while Viv listened in approval. "I can't concentrate."

 

"I know, me either. We'll fix it. Don't know what to do about Sam, but I do know what to do about Martin." Jack said back, pleased to have Danny open up this much this early. He'd have to figure out how territorial Danny was, how much room it was safe to give him, and how hard he'd have to hold the reins to keep his new partner from going primal. But he didn't think it was going to be a problem. He felt good about this.

 

"And I know, too." Viv said her voice pleased. Both Sentinels turned in her direction. She smiled. She got up, went to her desk and keyed her phone. "Sam, can you come to my office please? And bring Martin." They all heard the suspicious grumbling acknowledgment. Sam had acute hearing. She would know Viv wasn't alone in her office when she called.

 

Jack hoped this upcoming meeting went better than he thought it would.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam came down the hallway, her hand tight on Martin's elbow, her fingers digging into the nerve plexus there, the Guide grimacing, flushed, trying surreptitiously to free his arm. The Sentinel wasn't having anything to do with that. She was possessive. It was imperative to her the other Sentinels to know that the Guide, Martin, was hers. That she was in control of him, that he was not a free Guide open to courting.

 

Sam took him into Viv's office, noting Jack and Danny were already there, Danny seated, Jack standing up against the far wall. Sam immediately placed Martin in a chair as far from the other two Sentinels as was possible. She crossed her arms and stood over him, his head hanging, his lips compressed, embarrassed, cowed, and, Jack thought, just plain exhausted. Jack could well understand how that happened.

 

Sam was relentless, when she had a hold of a case, a witness, anything, she dug her heels in and never gave up. It was one of the qualities that he liked about her. It was important to be tenacious, to keep on pushing, to see a case to it's end. It was also one of her weaknesses. She had to learn to control it, to use it to find justice for those who couldn't find it for themselves. But, putting Martin into that situation, subjecting him to the indomitable Sentinel needs and will was wrong. A Guide wasn't a slave.

 

Sam glared defiantly at the two men who were watching her. She ignored Viv.

 

"Samantha." It wasn't surprising that it was Vivian who spoke to her. She lifted her chin in acknowledgement, not willing at this juncture to take her eyes or her attention off of Danny or Jack for long. If Danny hadn't been seated she would have refused to enter. Something didn't sense right. She didn't like how the room smelled or felt. Licking her dry lips, she shifted her stance, cut her eyes towards the older woman for a split second showing what respect she could to the Guide, then stared back at the men she thought were the true threats to her.

 

"We are supposed to be working as a team." Viv said next, so quiet, so clam, sounding reasonable, concerned. "But, I don't see that happening right now. I need you to sit down and listen to me." Sam cut the dark-skinned Guide an incredulous look. As if she'd been asked to throw down her weapon during a fire-fight. There was no way. Not while every instinct was screaming.

 

"Martin, come over here next to me." Viv said holding out her hand and Martin obediently made to stand. He didn't look into her eyes, just stood up. Sam's hand clamped down on his shoulder, pushing him back down into the chair in front of her, held him there with all the strength she possessed, feeling the tingle of warning explode into full alarm. She wasn't going to let him walk away from her, not while her senses were howling at her that something was definitely up.

 

"My Guide." Sam growled, a ritual demand for confirmation. Her eyes burning with distrust. Waiting to hear the others in the office agree that Martin was indeed hers before she let him move anywhere, even closer to another Guide, away from her arms reach. She waited for the acknowledgement, and waited, it did not come. And then, Sam knew what this was all about, the meeting, Jack, Danny, Viv, her and her Guide. She knew what they were up to. Betrayal. It hit her like a torrent of ice water thrown in her face. Her own teammates had conspired together to set her up. To steal her Guide.

 

Viv shook her head, still reasonable as she said the words that struck Sam's ears like bitter pills that refused to go down. They had betrayed her. "No, I am afraid not. Martin is not your Guide, Sam. It isn't working. I need you to let go of him and let him come over here." She spoke in her low, reasonable tone. Calming and soothing. But Jack saw the hair raise on the back of Sam's neck, under her long ponytail. Her fingers tightened, her pupils dilated, and he smelled the sharp taint of adrenaline hit the air. Martin let out a small sound of pain, sagging back into the chair.

 

Viv took a step forward, Jack and Danny holding back, letting the Guide handle the situation was less volatile, until Sam gave them no choice but to intervene. They hung in that limbo for a moment, two, then Martin winced, let out a sound of pain, and nothing could stop the way Danny's head came up, snapping upwards, quickly, making eye

contact with Sam in exactly the wrong way. Jack cursed and started to move towards the younger man, too late. Danny stood, taller than the female Sentinel, an unbonded male, hostile, a rival.

 

Sam reacted instantly, her left hand grabbing a handful of Martin's shirt and jacket, dragging him backwards with her as she retraced her steps out of the glass walled office. Hooking her foot around the lower edge, she had the door open in a flash, her gun appeared in her hand pointed at Danny, freezing him in place, trembling with the overwhelming need to pursue her, to defend the Guide. Jack also went still, anything less than immobility risked drawing a shot from the weapon held in the female Sentinel's hand. The look on her face stopped Jack in his tracks. She was dancing on the razor's verge, her finger tightening.

 

"My Guide." She said. "He is mine. You can't take him from me. I need him. I love him. He is mine. I've claimed him. He has accepted my claim. He is mine." Jack saw flashes of her teeth as she spoke, sharp, threatening. Even if he managed to disarm her she wouldn't go down without a fight. He dropped his head, trying to diffuse the situation by not looking directly at her. But, Danny wasn't backing down, or at least not enough, the tension increased.

 

"Be reasonable." Viv said quietly. "Surely you can see this is not normal behavior. You are hurting him." Sam's arm went around Martin's chest, locking him to the front of her body, bending him back off balance, her blazing eyes staring over his shoulder. Her eyes roved from Vivian to Danny to Jack.

 

Jack watched the beautiful blonde Sentinel from beneath lowered lashes. Talk her down, come on Viv, talk her down, he prayed. Don't let this end like I think it is going to. Prove me wrong. Please.

 

Viv didn't give up, she tried again. "You are hurting him, you are hurting a Guide. I know you don't want to do that." But all the reasonableness in the world wasn't making a difference now. Sam's aim stopped traveling between the three of them and fixed on one target. The target she perceived as the greatest threat. Danny growled.

 

Jack thought, "Oh god, this is it. He is going to die, right in front of me, before he's even had a chance to grow into the Sentinel I know he can be." His heart ached. He barely held back a moan of distress. There was nothing he could do. If he moved in defense of Danny, Sam would shoot the younger man. If he stayed where he was, and Danny growled again, moved again, Sam would shoot him. Place a bullet square in his forehead, blowing his brains out the back of his head. Jack would get the brunt of the brains and blood. He would be covered in Danny's tissue. And there was nothing he could do to prevent it. If Sam shot Danny, he would have to shoot her. Before she shot him, too.

Bile burned up into his esophagus.

 

"Get away from us. Stay away." Sam's aim stayed steady and true on the center of Danny's forehead. Even faced with that imminent danger his body quivered, wanting to lunge after her as she edged out of the door. She was toying with his most powerful instinct, had had him on edge for months, he wanted, needed to protect the Guide. She wasn't letting him. If he tried now he'd fail, and the failure would cost him his life.

 

"Danny." Jack took a risk, the only option he had, he added his voice to the mix, and immediately was gratified to see his younger Sentinel drop his chin, relax his shoulders, surrendering control and responsibility to Jack.

 

"Good boy," Jack praised him. Jack was ordering him to stand down, and Danny was standing down.

 

With anyone else, anyone but Sam, Martin would have stood a good chance to free himself. But Sam, until she relinquished him, or until he was taken away from her, was his Sentinel. He remained docile in her arms, obeying her in a time of crisis, her left hand a fist crumpling the front of his button down shirt. His eyes were wide, scared, the dark lashes, beautiful lashes, beautiful eyes, filled with fear met Jack's. Jack fought back the growl that wanted to erupt from his throat seeing that look in Martin's eyes.

 

Then Danny took a partial step forward again, and Sam's finger tightened on the trigger of her gun. Viv stepping in front of the Sentinel, dragging him to one side, pushing him to the floor, was all that kept Sam from killing him. Even outraged, cornered, Sam couldn't fire on a Guide.

 

Jack forced himself to stay absolutely still, no matter how much he wanted to reach for his gun while she was distracted. Sam had gone primal, her senses sharpened. A Sentinel being forced to give up her Guide, needing to protect her interest, to protect her own survival. Unable to cooperate with the order to give up her Guide.

 

It had been one of the risks, one of the reasons Jack had been unhappy with the match in the first place. Sam wasn't able to back off. She never had been. Taking orders from him only reluctantly. Full of challenges, questions, she wanted to lead, not follow. He'd hoped someday she would be ready for her own team. Now this, all those hopes were dashed away. She would never come back from this kind of incident to lead a team. Her career in the FBI was hanging by a thread. If she killed Danny, it was gone, her life was over. She'd be institutionalized, monitored for the rest of her life.

 

Now Martin was going to be hurt, had already been harmed, maybe Danny, or another Sentinel who got in Sam's way would die in the next few minutes.

 

Make no mistake about it, Jack knew she was on her way to flee the building, going to take her Guide out of here, out of the place with the intention of holing up somewhere she could protect him, her ownership of him. Sam owned Martin in her own mind. She had no doubt about her rights in that regard. Not even Senior Guide Johnson had gotten through to her.

 

Jack should have seen it coming. He was an FBI agent in charge. He should have seen this in time to stop it. But because he knew her, because she was his agent, on his team, he'd not thought it through to the obvious conclusion. Too late now.

 

They watched Sam back out down the hall, other people in the large room slowing down, staring as they became aware of the incident as it unfolded in near silence, hardly more than the shuffling of feet on the cheap industrial carpet to mark their progress. Danny got to his feet, his eyes were bleak when they met Jack's.

 

"Holy shit." Someone murmured out in the big room, and Sam's gun swung in that direction. She tensed, and the speaker went down to the floor, on hands and knees, telegraphing contrition, submission, no threat. Her aim fixed for a few heartbeats then moved on, Leaving the man shaken but alive.

 

Jack heard the breath rushing in and out of her lungs, heard the far less smooth respiration of the Guide she had in her clutches. Sam was heading for the elevators, or the stairs. Probably the stairs, the elevator could be stopped, she and her Guide trapped, gassed, caught. If she made it out of the building they'd be damn lucky to find her again. It couldn't happen, he told himself. He couldn't let it happen to Martin.

 

Jack waited until her attention was diverted elsewhere as she made her way towards the stairwell, watching other agents closer to her, and then he picked up the phone, dialing security. He refused to have Martin or Sam shot because they surprised one of the guardian Sentinels on the first floor.

 

Danny was shaking, his face agonized. "It's my fault." He said. "I shouldn't have moved. It was too soon. She had to protect him. If I'd waited until she gave him up..." He was shaking, his eyes full of despair.

 

Jack put a hand on his shoulder. It spoke well to their future partnership that Danny didn't flinch at the touch. "No. She was too far gone. We should have put an end to it weeks ago. Or never let it get started. It isn't your fault. There is more than enough blame to go around, Danny."

 

Jack headed out of the door. Sam was barely in sight, in a moment she would disappear behind a wall, and he'd lose visual contact. He didn't care if a hundred other agent's eyes were on her, he couldn't stand not to be one of them. "Stay here." He told Danny and Viv. "She doesn't trust us now. She'll shoot any of us if we get too close."

 

"Jack..." Vivian said as he went out the door. He raised a hand to stop her before she said anything more, didn't take the time to answer, just left. He had to be able to see Sam and Martin. He had to.

 

He rounded the corner quickly if cautiously, just a Sam reached the bank of elevators. His breath was stuck in his chest. She was almost there. If she reached the stairs....

 

Behind her the elevators slid open, disgorging a group of men and women. Sam was already turning that way when the tall, handsome man Jack recognized from his file photos took her down. One, two, three. Hard and fast and brutally sharp. Sam was on the floor, disarmed, no shots fired and Martin was pressed against the wall, on the floor, gasping, crying. Safe.

 

It was shock that slowed Jack, then he ran towards the downed agent. His agent, Spade. And Martin. Danny passed him, far faster than Jack had been in years. The visitor looked up at their approach, another, silver haired man stepping up at his shoulder. A little shorter than the rescuer, older, still sturdy, strong, military through and through, his whole body, his stance screamed Marines to Jack, even through the fear, the need to get to his two agents. To assure himself disaster, what had seemed unavoidable, inevitable disaster had been averted.

 

Jack didn't let himself think about the other problem. The other stunning impossibility. That the man who had taken down the primal Sentinel was not another Sentinel, he was a Guide. He put it out of his mind, or tried to, at last he gave up, and forced it to the back of his thoughts, where it periodically poked at him.

 

Sam cringed from the Guide, her eyes wide, the whites showing all around her irises.

 

Anthony DiNozzo held her down, with his Sentinel at his side, waited for Jack to arrive. He showed no stress, no fear. It was as if it was business as usual for a Guide to overwhelm a Sentinel. He ignored the gaping faces all around him, his Sentinel moving up to bump a thigh against his shoulder, his face placid, but somehow pleased. The rest of his party gathering around him. The Goth girl slapping him on the back and grinning at him.

 

"Way to go, Tony!" She sipped noisily from the huge soda she held in both hands, Jack heard the carbonated bubbles popping as they were drawn up the straw. She swallowed, looking around alertly her eyes lively and bright. Jack's testicles drew up into his body as her eyes came to rest on him, she cocked her head, showed her teeth in a blazing smile. She watched him hurrying to Martin, then watched as Danny went down on his knees next to Martin, throwing his arms around him. She sucked loudly on the straw, dark eyes not missing a thing.

 

An older man, Doctor Mallard, was standing with hands folded in front of his stomach, watching the unfolding drama with serene attention. A very tall young man, with a soft, almost sweetly boyish face was peering over his shoulder, a second blond man was frowning, regarding DiNozzo with the same trepidation in his gaze that Jack was feeling. A young woman, her dark hair in a braid was looking on with a half smirk on her face, standing a little apart.

 

Jack was at last at Martin's side. He lay a hand on the other man's head, unable to not do it, needing to prove to himself that Martin was physically unharmed, even before he dealt with the visiting agents. He threaded his fingers through the sweat damp hair.

 

DiNozzo was holding Sam down, easily, not hurting her, but it was clear she couldn't move, she was still cringing away from him, as if desperate not to remain in contact with him. He wasn't letting her get far. She couldn't move against the Guide. Nor use her superior Sentinel strength and win free, Jack frowned. DiNozzo held her until the security team arrived, thundering up the stairs like the warning of a storm about to break.

 

All the while Gibbs, Special Agent in Charge Leroy Jethro Gibbs, stood by his Guide. Looking proud instead of outraged that his Guide had put himself in harm's way.

 

A second elevator slid open. And Jack distinctly heard a hard voice say, "Stay in the elevator, Chief." And a put upon sigh, before he saw the classic profile of James Joseph Ellison look out.

 

One look and it was clear to the Sentinel, former Special OPs soldier, it was safe for his Guide to exit, the situation was well in hand. Blair Sandburg stepped into the room, his eyes curious, a brilliant cobalt blue that cut through the charged atmosphere like nothing Jack had felt before. He was surrounded by three men larger than himself, body language making it terribly clear that to fuck with their Guide was to have a death wish, even the model handsome face of the shortest of the three was filled with that dire warning.

 

"Oh wow!. What happened here?" Sandburg asked, before pushing his way through the mass of guardian Sentinel, who stared at him, bemused, and right to Sam's side. He put his hands on her, reaching up to cup her face as security lifted her. Ellison was on his heels, growling unhappily under his breath, but not stopping him.

 

Sandburg smoothed his hand over Sam's hair, she whimpered and pressed into his touch. "You are so imbalanced, you need some serious meditation, get in touch with your inner Sentinel. Trust me. It worked for the big, guy here. It can work for anybody!" He stroked her hair again.

 

Jack gaped at the small, curly haired hippy bouncing energetically next to the recently homicidal Sentinel. Being permitted to touch her. Then he stared up at the obviously unhappy group of Sentinels around him.

 

What the hell? None of these Guides were behaving normally. It was the Twilight Zone.

 

"Hey!" Blair let out a weak objection as he was lifted up in his largest Sentinel's arms. A vast, dark skinned man with scars prominent on his regal face. Then the Cascade Guide giggled, hooking an arm around the man's powerful neck, and let himself be carried away. Finally, Jack thought.


	4. Chapter 4

The briefing room was a large one. Again there were glass walls all around, a smoky brown color to reduce the glare on sensitive Sentinel eyes. The walls were thick to reduce noise and vibration. Several large tables and reasonably comfortable chairs, especially considering it was a government facility, were spread out at the far end.

 

The sheer size of the room made the men and women who filed into it seem inadequate in number, only emphasized by the unfurnished majority. Sixteen men and women, here to work on one of the more important, more upsetting of the cases Jack had ever headed. He didn't want to think of what would happen if he, if they failed to find answers. He had visions of vigilante justice squads springing up around the country. Of Sentinels who were sniffing around a Guide with honest intention to court them, being ganged up on and beaten. Normal Sentinel behavior would become, suddenly suspicious. Dangerous. In the name of protecting Guides, Sentinels would not hesitate to assault perhaps even kill, each other.

 

Dozens of collapsible tables were against a far wall, plastic seated chairs stacked nearby, nesting one on top another, ten at a time. The three long tables that Jack needed were set up, and now they all headed for them. They looked like too small a collection of agents to matter much, to do what needed doing. Jack checked his watch. He didn't have much time to cover the bald facts. Sam's hearing in front of the local FBI Sentinel Guild was set to get underway in less than two hours.

 

Outside, anxious and curious others found excuses to wander by. The rumor/gossip mill had done itself proud, the accounting of DiNozzo's takedown of Sentinel Agent Spade had made it around the building like wildfire. Everyone was finding a reason to be on this floor, and to walk by for their peek at him. Jack's glare wasn't having the desired quelling effect. Viv, her arms crossed forbiddingly over her chest, her frown pasted on her face, was a little more of a deterrent, but when one observer fled, two more took their place. Jack surrendered gracefully, ignoring the gathering troops beyond the insulated walls.

 

The visiting Sentinels and Guides entered the briefing room in two distinct groups, with the exception of Jack and his team, and Doctor Mallard, who ranged indiscriminately between the NCIS group and the Cascade group. Mallard had, in a very short period of time, (the amount of time it took to traverse the distance of the long hall), apparently struck up a friendship with the young Cascade Guide, Blair, who was allowing the older man to hang on his arm, escorting him.

 

Heads bent together, they happily chattered away at each other, each seeming to have an endless, exhausting supply of stories pertinent to any subject brought up by the other. They were enjoying the exchange immensely, beaming at each other. It wasn't until seats were being taken up that Dr Mallard, who preferred to be called Ducky, he said with an enchanting smile, drifted over to the table that his colleagues were arranging themselves at.

 

At one end of the room Jack and Vivian, who was wearing her impassive look arms still folded across her chest, Martin who was visibly shaky but moving around with a purpose, determined not to give in to the desire to fall apart, and Danny protectively hovering around Martin, had set up a white board with the pictures of all the disappeared Guides. Danny and Martin had also wheeled in a cart of stacked folders.

 

Jack let his gaze linger on Martin's white face, his dark hair, hazel-brown eyes standing out in slashes of contrasting dark and light, a swirl of confusion in their depths, the look in those eyes was bewildered, hurt, and humiliated. His abduction, his Sentinel troubles were the very public fodder for gossip. Jack recognized the look. As soon as the briefing was over and the guests bundled off to their suites to read up on the case materials, he, Martin and Danny needed to spend some time alone. Martin needed a safe place to break down. Danny needed a safe, less public place to hold and comfort his friend.

 

The furor over Sam had died down to a dull roar, at least inside the room, replaced outside by the kick up over DiNozzo, and though Jack had offered the arriving teams some time to get settled and to readjust, both Ellison and Gibbs had declined. The two men, without a doubt the decision-makers for their respective teams, so Jack just shrugged and pressed the intercom to have Jason call down to the cafeteria and order a platter of sandwiches and some drinks.

 

Or he tried. As soon as Sandburg overheard Jack ordering food he showed up at Jack's elbow, the shorter of his Sentinels not more than a foot behind him, a very handsome shadow, neatly attired in an expensive and tasteful suit. Brown eyes like lasers fixed on Jack, watching him for the slightest impropriety. Jack wanted to smirk. Sure Sandburg was a gorgeous man, and sweet as honey, but he couldn't' hold a candle up to Martin Fitzgerald in Jack's opinion.

 

Blair was bright and cheerful, eyes far friendlier than Brian Rafe's, a meticulously composed list was his hands. He offered it to Jack, who had little choice but to take it. He examined it with a feeling of trepidation, some sixth sense warning him he wasn't going to be thrilled with it's contents.

 

"You can keep it, send it to the kitchen, I made the copy for you." The curly haired man patted his bulging backpack. "I've got plenty more. Jim has had his two cups of coffee today, so he'll have spring water, a quart should do it, flying is dehydrating after all. Bri and Tiik can have one diet soda each and water, too. We've all had too much meat today, and too much salt, so maybe a salad, sourdough bread, steamed vegetables, and fruit. Some warm olive oil to dip the bread, no garlic. No saturated fat. Soup, say minestrone would be good. Low sodium, meat free."

 

Jack grunted at him, mesmerized by the Guide in spite of himself. Rafe, dark eyes twinkling, with what Jack suspected might be humor, gently took the Guide's arm and led him away. Jack was left with the handful of papers, stapled neatly at one corner, as he watched Sandburg ushered away under the arm of his Sentinel, curls bouncing.

 

Jack skimmed through the sheets. Thirty-eight pages, single spaced, about 10 point. If he wasn't a Sentinel he'd have needed glasses to read it. It proved to be information on an exhaustive number of products and foods and how they affected his Sentinels. It also outlined in exacting detail the diet each of his Sentinels was on. Jack managed to keep his expression under control. His ex-wife thankfully had not been this....aware of his own Sentinel sensitivities and preferences. And they had been together for the best part of twenty five years.

 

Sandburg, of course, was a Sentinel Specialist. And Specialists did tend to go overboard in the areas they specialized in. He cleared his throat, handing the list to his secretary when the slender African American man entered in response to Jack's aborted buzz. Jason took the sheaf of papers and skimmed the top sheet, then glanced up at Jack to see if it was a joke. Jack shook his head minutely, communicating with the other man without words. Jason's face took on a pained but determined look and he lifted his Notebook and waited patiently for the rest of the orders.

 

Warily, Jack looked at the NCIS table, reluctantly inquiring as to their preferences. They all began talking at once. Jack heard as distinct. "Caff-Pow!" and "coffee" repeated several times. McGee and DiNozzo were ribbing each other along the lines of..."you'll eat anything, probie..." and an indignant..."I have good taste in food..." then..."yeah, all food tastes good to you, even the lousy stuff...." "you wouldn't know good Italian pasta if...."

 

Gibbs and the quiet woman, (not the Goth who was laughing and loud in a way no Sentinel would be), stood apart, watching. Ziva David shook her head reprovingly, but a tiny smile played around her lips as she watched Tony, another man's Guide, horse around with her partner and fellow Sentinel. Gibbs didn't seem bothered by it much, either. And Jack, well aware of the undercurrents flying about the room, understood.

 

The connection between the former Marine and the tall, good-looking young man was palpable. When their eyes met, the resulting connection almost scorched the air. No way anyone, any Sentinel, would miss it. And that was what mattered. No other Sentinel would try to horn in on DiNozzo with Gibbs around. The "Hands Off" signs were out and flashing. The pheromones were off the scale. From a Guide. Which was just...not possible.

 

Whoa. Jack blinked. Gibbs looked his way, his mouth quirking, then mercifully intervened, the noise from the NCIS group dropping to nothing in an instant just from the sound of him clearing his throat. Orders were quickly taken down from the NCIS team. Then under Gibbs' gimlet eye the playful ribbing stopped and to Jack's relief, they settled down, giving him their full, daunting attention.

 

The Goth woman, "Hi, I'm Abby!", sat nestled up next to Gibbs, Tony on her other side, an arm thrown across the back of her chair. Jack's mind screamed at that anomaly. McGee and David sat together, companionably close, but he couldn't have told they were bonded if he hadn't seen the paperwork. Their vibe was more like that of reasonably good friends. On Gibbs' other side the thirty-five to forty year-old, slightly out of place man, who had been very quiet up 'til now, took a chair. The oldest member of the team, the ME, sat next to "Anthony". Anthony and "Abigail" fussed over getting him settled a bit, which pleased him, though he scoffed at them for it. Jack pursed his lips and looked down to conceal his amusement.

 

The glaring oddity was that the team was entirely intermixed, without respect to who was bonded to whom. Jack had never seen the like. The idea of bonded Sentinels and Guides choosing to sit apart was very strange. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Danny seated next to Martin, close but not touching. That was more like what Jack was used to. Understated, formal.

 

The Cascade group was far more traditional than the NCIS group or even Danny, Jack, Viv and Martin.

 

Blair was in the middle. Ellison had him all but plastered to his side, a muscular arm around him, as Blair turned this way and that in his seat, the senior Sentinel establishing his claim with authority, the other two Sentinels flanking them, wary, alert, a respectful foot between each of them and the Guide in the middle, not playing around at all, hyper-aware, vigilant, attentive.

 

Sandburg seemed incapable of sitting still, and was chattering away, reaching out frequently to stroke a long-fingered, slim, graceful hand down the arm of one or another of the Sentinels, his curls flying into his senior Sentinel's face over and over as he talked energetically, looking from one side tot he other, head snapping around. They all tolerated the continuous, low-volume conversation without complaint, nodding from time to time, meeting his earnest, eager gaze, and then rescanning the room with exacting eyes. As Jack watched, trying not to stare, he heard Blair talking about tests, about DiNozzo's vibes, and Ducky. Ellison finally turned to the young man, grabbed a handful of hair in his large fist, and fastened it into a tight pony-tail. Jack smiled down at the stacks of binders he was unloading from the carts, not wanting Ellison to see the expression.

 

Danny and martin helped Jack distribute the binders. Then twenty minutes later the food. Soup, salad, water, two diet sodas, bread, extra virgin olive oil, and sliced fruit for the Cascade group. Three dozen sandwiches, two flats of Jolt! cola, two carafes of coffee, one Irish Whiskey, a large glass of milk, a dozen bottles of water, and chocolate cake for the NCIS group.

 

Viv was more than halfway into the briefing when Jack noticed it. Sandburg had gone absolutely quiet, his gaze fixed on the whiteboard. His concentration was fierce, his body still, but radiating with so much electric energy Jack expected him to leap up from his seat at any moment. Then the deep blue eyes flicked up to meet his own, an otherworldly light in them, his lips moving in silent speech. Jack was stunned at the comprehension, brilliance in those eyes. Sandburg didn't even seem to be aware that they were making eye contact, however. It was as if he weren't there, in the room at all.

 

Thoroughly spooked, Jack turned to the rest of the room. He had kept up the flow of the talk, even as he'd looked into those knowing, ancient eyes, completely out of place in the face of one so young. Questions flashed around the room ans the briefing turned into a question and answer session. Until at last, five minutes before he had to be upstairs for Sam's hearing, they were done.

 

Grabbing a cup of coffee, he hurried up stairs, leaving it to Viv to see that the others got to where they needed to go.

 

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

The briefing was over, the food eaten, the mess carted away, and the visiting teams were being delivered to their respective rooms. Sam's preliminary fact-finding session was over and done with. Jack sighed. He couldn't forget the pale face of his agent as she sat silently in the chair they provided for her, long blond hair hiding her expression. Two grim Guardians stood at her back in a parody of how she'd stood behind Martin just this morning.

 

It had been torture for him, for her. To hear the testimony of her recent behavior. To suffer through the guilt of knowing he hadn't noticed, hadn't acted soon enough. He could have, should have prevented the disaster of today. No one said out loud they blamed him, Jack blamed himself.

 

Time to go home. It was eight pm, and since the beginning of the Guide's case, an early evening for him. But tonight he had other things to deal with. Other work just as important to himself, one young Sentinel and one traumatized Guide. He had two lives to begin putting back together. He'd failed Sam, he wasn't going to fail Danny or Martin.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: This chapter is for Joan, who has been so supportive for so long....  


* * *

Elena leaned over to whisper in Jack's ear. Jack had asked her to be the liaison for him and the rest of the team in regards to Sam's case, she had stuck with Sam every step of the way. Usually Jack's preference was to do these kinds of things himself. He liked to shield his team from outsiders, let everyone know he wouldn't tolerate the slightest unfairness, that his people were ~his~, and messing with them meant messing with him.

 

This time there was too much on his plate. He was dealing with the highest profile case of his career. There were out of town agents and officers involved. Media. Then there was Martin and Danny. No way he could rationalize putting that on a back burner, putting it on hold to make time for him to personally attend to Sam's case. Doing that would have long-lasting consequences. Damage that was not correctable. He'd been forced to trust Elena with the task of shepherding Sam, seeing the other Sentinel got a fair and even shake.

 

Jack settled himself on the hard, wooden courtroom bench, it's surface polished absolutely smooth by decades of men and women who had sat right where he was now, some with the same degree of conflict and worry Jack was experiencing.

 

Elena's low whisper barely reached his hearing. Her scent, the rustle of her hair made a far stronger impact initially than her words, rich womanly scent, lush, alive, sensual. Female, alluring, Sentinel, youthful, she had eaten strawberries, melon, oranges recently, the tang of yogurt, the fruit was a crisp undertone to her own scent, her subtle, musky perfume. Her whisper was only just loud enough for him to hear. She was taking no chance on being overheard by unwelcome ears.

 

"The testimony so far has been only from those who witnessed what occurred after the event began, the Guardians who responded to the alert, other agents in the room, they are still waiting for Guide DiNozzo and the NCIS agents' testimony, and of course yours, Viv's and Danny's." Because Jack, Viv and Danny were the only ones who could testify as to the actual start of the incident.

 

The Latina cast her dark eyes in the direction of the panel. Martin of course would not be asked to give his version of events. A Guide forced to testify against his Sentinel, no way. The risk of trauma, of Martin trying to take on guilt he didn't deserve to have was too great. Jack, now Martin's official Sentinel of record, had said no when the request had come down. No one questioned the decision. It was expected after all for Jack to refuse. The health of the Guide was paramount. And testimony from a distraught Guide would mean a courtroom filled with Martin's emotions, his distress. None of the Sentinels wanted that.

 

Nor did they want Martin and Sam in the same room yet. Martin and Sam anywhere near each other...Jack knew that was a very bad idea. All of Sam's apparent docility would vanish, she would do everything in her power to get to her Guide. To Martin. It was too much to ask a newly separated Sentinel to go through that and maintain any sort of composure. Martin was still unclaimed by another Sentinel. Paperwork stating Martin belonged with Jack and Danny didn't mean anything to Sam. In Sam's mind Martin was still hers. Given her degree of obsession Jack wasn't sure if Martin would ever be able to get near Sam again. Even when Jack and Danny had both taken the final step of marking the Guide.

 

"Judge Genson read a statement I am sorry you missed. From the Guide out of Cascade. He is apparently some kind of Specialist in Sentinel behavior. It was quite thorough. I could believe he actually knew our Sam, though I know it isn't true." Elena leaned back into her own space, her voice had held a hint of sadness when she said Sam's name, Jack nodded, not bothering with a reply. He did want to hear or read Sandburg's assessment to the court, but he'd wait. What had Doctor Sandburg said? What had he had time to write? Jack would have to find out later. For now he focused instead on the case being presented.

 

A Sentinel who had been in the room, heading from the elevator bank towards his desk was speaking. Not adding anything that Jack didn't already know. He turned his attention onto the grim faces of the listening judges. Sam was in big, big trouble.

 

The door behind Jack opened, Elena and Jack turned in their seats just enough to note that NCIS Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was entering, eyes narrowed and taking in the whole courtroom in one sweep before stepping fully into the room. He was followed by his far more relaxed Guide, Tony DiNozzo, and lastly by the blond Sentinel, Stan Burley, every bit as unsmiling and vigilant as Gibbs was, bringing up the rear. They took seats immediately inside the door. Tony in the middle, sandwiched between his permanent and his temporary Sentinel. The shoulders of the three men touched as they sat.

 

DiNozzo was alert, interested, bright, and almost painfully good-looking. He had the kind of looks that Jack appreciated, more like Martin's looks than Sandburg's. Clean cut, elegant lines, classic features. Handsome instead of beautiful. Sandburg, with his huge blue eyes, and long curly hair, lashes a mile long, and his full, sweet mouth was more beautiful, more feminine in Jack's mind. And being male, that rankled with Jack. Jack liked his women feminine, not his men. He found femininity sexy. He didn't typically find men sexy. That feeling hovering on the outskirts of his perception in regard to Sandburg made him uneasy around the smaller man.

 

Gibbs honed in on Jack's prolonged observation of his Guide, their gazes meeting briefly, with some sort of heat, a warning, before Gibbs' moved on in another sweep of the courtroom. Jack felt it like a cold, thin blade. He'd been warned off. It was why established Sentinels who had their own territories, who were alpha to the bone, didn't go into other alpha's territory without a negotiation. Otherwise there would be pissing contests. Gibbs, despite the negotiation that had gone on between his agency and Jack's, wasn't taking any chances Jack misunderstood what was on offer. Tony was off limits.

 

Jack raised his eyes up to the Guide's face. The hazel eyes were on him. And on Elena. Trouble. Jack didn't miss the interest the Guide was showing in the young, attractive Sentinel. Fine and good. That was sex and procreation, legit, and nothing that would rile another Sentinel. But, Tony's eyes spent as much time on Jack as on Elena. Which was playing with fire. As Jack watched from the corner of his eye, Tony jumped. Gibbs had delivered a smack to the back of the Guide's head. Tony almost purred, melting into the space between Gibbs and Burley. As if he'd been stroked.

 

The Guide's hazel eyes flicked up and met Jack's again, the grin was electric, but there was something...shrewd about it under the almost goofy slant. Jack wondered how often people underestimated the Guide. Even here and now, after he had witnessed what Agent DiNozzo had done, taken down an FBI Sentinel Agent trained and field experienced in hand to hand combat, so efficiently, so smoothly it had looked effortless; even now, Jack had to remind himself that the Agent was more than a big, happy-go-lucky kid sporting an aw-shucks grin.

 

Samantha Spade, Sentinel and Special Agent for the FBI, sat in the box to one side of the panel of three, grim faced judges. Two big Guardian Sentinels were at her side, their attention fastened on her, ignoring the rest of the courtroom. Larger, stronger than the average Sentinel, and far more extensively trained in physical combat. With backgrounds more like Ellison's than Jack's or the rest of his team. There were few crimes taken more seriously than abuse or misuse of a Guide by a Sentinel. The charge was difficult to bring, and close to impossible to defend once brought. The current electrified political climate only amplified the impact of Sam's case. No one was willing to take any chances.

 

"They were ready to railroad her. Make an example of her." Elena breathed into Jack's ear, a lock of her black hair falling over the sleeve of her suit. It was impossible that even the most gifted Sentinel could have heard her words from a yard away. "Throw the book at her....until the statement from Guide Sandburg. Now I am not sure what they will do. I doubt they know, either."

 

And Jack could understand that. Discounting the advice and words of a Guide renowned in the care and study of Sentinels would not look very enlightened. DC already had the eyes of the nation and probably much of the world focused on the city. Waiting to see if they would find the lost Guides, if they would be up to solving the case. And now waiting to see how they would handle the trial of an FBI Sentinel accused of mistreatment of a Guide. Of actually attempting to kidnap a Guide and take him out of the FBI headquarters. That kind of loss of control by an agent of the FBI was ruffling feathers everywhere.

 

No matter how emphatically it was denied, the Disappeared Guides and Sam's actions were tied together in the public's perceptions. Sam had tried to kidnap Martin. She was a Sentinel, he was a Guide. Other Guides had been kidnapped. Therefore the cases were one and the same. And the press was speculating on the possibility she was the ringleader of all of it, or at least involved in it up to her eyeballs. Jack nearly groaned. It would only be a matter of time before uninformed pockets of activists around the country would be stirring up serious trouble, calling for her blood.

 

Rumors had started flying almost before Sam had been taken into custody. The gist of it was, Sam Spade was the mastermind behind the other Guides vanishing. The media was camped out in the downstairs lobby. Sam couldn't leave, even if she had a hope of being found innocent of violating a Guide's human rights. There wasn't much chance of that, but if she did leave the building, vigilantes would be her biggest worry.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Martin Fitzgerald and Danny Taylor were feeling their way cautiously around their newly sanctioned bond. Danny was unusually solicitous, not acting like the brash young Sentinel he was known to be. His attention was never fully off Martin, who's desk was now next to Danny's. Sam's desk had been carried out during the night, the carpet around it shampooed to remove her scent, Martin and Danny moved to a new location in the big room in an effort to keep Danny from reacting to the other Sentinel's lingering scent.

 

Danny wasn't having any trouble with that. What he was having trouble with was the urge to put himself between Martin and every Sentinel that came near them. He had already placed Martin in the desk behind his own, so anyone wanting to see him would have to pass Danny first. It still wasn't quite enough to make Danny happy. Jack had the desks moved again towards the middle of the day, when it became clear that Danny was in trouble. He put Martin's desk next to his own office, and Danny's in front of Martin's, so the the Guide was sandwiched between himself and Danny. It seemed to be working.

 

Martin was quiet on the subject, very biddable, not exactly unexpected. But he also was more relaxed than Danny had seen him in months. He was getting his work done. He was not restless, or tense. He was trusting Danny and Jack to look out for him, not to accost him at work, or make demands best attended to in private. Martin was reveling in his new sense of privacy. Danny's chest swelled with pride at that realisation. Martin was feeling safe.

 

Last night the three of them were bone-tired, and who could blame them after the day they'd had? Making a stop at Danny's for a few days worth of clothes, and then at Martin's for the same. Then on to Jack's house. Martin's condo, aside from better security and underground parking, and a far higher price tag, was hardly different from Danny's small apartment, in fact it looked less lived in, less welcoming, Jack shuddered. Jack's house was totally different.

 

It was large, airy, but conveyed a welcome warmth. The master bedroom was huge, and obviously it had been furnished by a competent hand, hardly an amateur. The bed was big, the chairs and love seat grouped near the large upstairs window forming a reading area defined by a thick napped, deep burgundy, brown and green space rug with pale tan detailing. The walk-in closet big enough to be another room. The master bedroom, bathroom and closet occupied the entire third floor of the three story home. Bigger than Danny and Martin's entire apartments.

 

The second floor was composed of 2 guest rooms, the library and a sitting area with a small kitchen and a large guest bathroom. Once upon a time it had been where Jack's two young daughters lived. Now they had been gone for months, living with their mother elsewhere. The big old house echoed. Empty, but not as if it were cold. Danny had stepped in cautiously, close on Martin's heels as they followed Jack inside, his nose raised in the sniffing posture of an alert Sentinel learning new territory.

 

The main kitchen, den, dining room and living room were on the lowest floor. The living room was done in rich burgundies, browns, deep greens, gold, and smoked glass, a color scheme reminding Martin of India. Danny raised a brow in Jack's direction when the older man turned towards him. Jack shrugged. Danny nodded and set out exploring with all senses on high alert. Jack stepped up closer to Martin who, like a Guide who was familiar with the idiosyncrasies of Sentinels, stood and waited for Danny's decision on the space before moving around himself.

 

Danny returned to them fifteen minutes later. Martin was just standing in the middle of the room the last of his energy seeming to ebb. He'd been through the wringer lately. Jack took his overnight case from him and led him upstairs. Danny trailed along looking both nervous and hopeful. Uncertain of his welcome. Everything in the house was Jack's territory. Danny smelled it, felt it, sensed it. It wasn't his space, yet. Jack was determined it would be. He was determined that he, Danny and Martin were going to work. Their bond be permanent.

 

Martin didn't seem to be reacting much at all. Judging from his condo, Jack thought it had been a while since the Guide had been there. No doubt he'd been at Sam's. He wasn't used to his own place anymore. Jack was bothered by the docility of the man as they mounted the stairs. Sam had drummed her dominance into the Guide. Jack didn't want to believe the extent of damage that had resulted, but the evidence was right here, in front of his eyes.

 

Martin waited to be told what to do. Not healthy. It complicated everything from living with him, working with him, to claiming him, for both himself and for Danny. Worse for Danny. Jack smelled the younger man's need on him. Danny wanted to bond in the worst way. There was more than a hint of sexual arousal in his scent. Danny not only wanted to bond, he wanted to be Martin's lover.

 

Martin, on the other hand, didn't need sex. Sex was the last thing on the Guide's mind. Safety, security, peace, and being able to return to himself, to make his own decisions came first. Bonding would help him, but any kind of sexual advance, especially an aggressive one, wouldset him back, and do more damage. The next time Martin had sex, Jack was determined it would be because Martin made the first move. That was not negotiable. If it was a woman Martin wanted, fine, if it was Danny, more luck to them both.

 

Martin needed to be the one in control of his body, make his own choices within the bond. Jack was pretty sure the Guide had never had that ability in any of his previous relationships. His family, one filled with dominant Sentinels, had been disappointed when it's oldest son was born a Guide. They had assured that he had the most alpha Sentinels they could find within their own social circle. Sam's family was as prominent as the Fitzgeralds. Her arrest and trial was not making them happy. Once again they'd been disappointed in their son. Martin had surrendered to Sam from the beginning, far, far too easily. As if he felt it was the way it always was....the way it was supposed to be.

 

Jack was determined Martin was going to learn different.


	6. Chapter 6

It was Sandburg who almost negligently discovered the one connection between all the Guides. The missing link as it were.

 

They were in the middle of the general briefing involving all the agents and staff, given to be sure that everyone in the FBI was on the same page, a good one hundred and fifty people crammed into the building's biggest auditorium. A waste of time in Jack's view, but he had no choice in the matter.

 

Jack was standing up in front of the group that included just about everyone in the building, thinking how it took away from the time he and his team might be spending on following up leads. But the guys from the upper echelon had decided the briefing was necessary. So Jack was giving it, as he'd been ordered to.

 

After the introduction of the visiting team members, a rousing succession of grunts for the most part, except for Abby who had waved energetically, he was giving everyone what had been called the 'weekly update on the Missing', a thing Jack was hoping wouldn't last too many more weeks. Tacking up the last of the ten photos on the white board behind him, he opened his mouth to begin the briefing, which was pretty much the same this week as it had been last week. No leads, no clues.

 

A low, distracting sound filled the room. Subliminal, like a distant chanting, if Jack was forced to give it a name. It flowed over his skin, shivering down into his body, under his dimpling gooseflesh, and sinking into his muscles, his nerves. He looked up, out over the room, noticing all the Sentinels rubbing at their arms, their faces alert, their eyes wide, turning in their seats trying to pin down where the sound was coming from.

 

Every Sentinel was aware of it , not just Jack. He gazed around the room as the Sentinels began to move restlessly, more than a few contemplating getting to their feet. The restlessness of the Sentinels was picked up quickly by the Guides. 

 

If not for the three Sentinels in the back of the room, Blair's Sentinels, Jack wasn't sure if he'd have figured out where the noise was coming from. It seemed to fill the room entirely, from corner to corner to corner. It echoed and bounced, not unpleasant, but not soothing while he didn't know it's source. The other Sentinels were growing increasingly restless, sniffing at the air, gazing around, eyes intense, sharp, attempting to piggyback their other senses onto hearing and focus on the sound.

 

But Ellison wasn't doing that, nor was Tiik, nor Rafe. They were sitting calmly, heads tilted like a flock of odd birds, fixated on the small, curly haired form of their Guide, who was leaning comfortably against Ducky Mallard, the the envy of just about every nearby Sentinel, and humming distractedly, head bobbing gently, while pawing through a massive stack of papers on his lap and the table in front of him.

 

As soon as Jack pinpointed Sandburg, his prickly skin settled down like a giant hand had smoothed it. The noise was coming from Blair. Jack let out an abbreviated sigh, and felt the laser eyes of his fellow Sentinels find him as they interpreted the sound as his having located the source. Which he had. Dozens upon dozens of eyes followed his line of sight and fixed on the oblivious Sandburg, necks craning.

 

Sandburg who had been reading the folder in front of him, a set of granny glasses perched on the end of his nose, distracting many of the Sentinels in the room with his humming chant, spoke up, timing it with perfect and unintentional precision into the lull as Jack and every Sentinel in the room turned towards him and focused all their senses on him. It was as if every one of them had taken a breath at that precise moment in time, and held it, until Sandburg's silken, rich voice, a shaman's voice if Jack had ever heard one, shattered the glass bubble of invisible anticipation.

 

"Here." Sandburg murmured, speaking into the quiet in the room, his finger tapping out an emphasis. Everyone drew a second breath, ragged, harsh, again in perfect synchrony with the Guide's speech. Chairs scraped the floor as others turned to see.

 

Jack thought wryly, that it really took no effort at all to focus on Blair, since the majority of the Sentinels had been darting looks at him every chance they had. The curly headed Guide looked down at his finger holding it's place on one page while he flipped to another. And another. Tapped at whatever he found so interesting, a triumphant little roll of his fingertips against the pages. His fingers were stuck awkwardly into a half dozen spots. Ducky was leaning over his shoulder, peering down at the notations with great interest, their heads together like two small boys peering at the most interesting bug in the world..

 

Sandburg licked his lip, his small, white teeth biting it crookedly, sinking in, worrying at it, nodding excitedly. A far different sound from the humming filled the conference area. Another murmur took it's place, but this from more than a hundred throats. The three Sentinels in the back tensed, eyes narrowing dangerously. Jack fought to tamp down his instinctive desire to challenge them for the Guide they had brought into his personal territory. He licked his own lips. Caught the rising scent of the other FBI Sentinels' interest. His gaze swept the room. Shit.

 

Only the NCIS Sentinels remained unmoving in their seats. The others were twisting around restlessly, the Guides nearest them were trying to touch as many of the larger men and women as they could, but the Guides were vastly outnumbered. Jack swallowed. This was looking like it could go very badly indeed. He hissed. Heads turned towards him, Sentinels shook their heads as if to clear them, Guides reaching out to touch their shoulders, but not enough of them redirected their attention to Jack.

 

"Out," Jack said. And the Sentinels who had broken away from their focus on Blair got to their feet and exited. Jack stepped further towards the rest. There were several department heads. Men and women who were not under his control. Who should not be this distracted, who normally wouldn't be. But the case and Sam's arrest had been destabilizing. All of them were on edge. Jack didn't know if the department heads would listen to him, no matter what length he went to. These were men and women not used to being told what to do.

 

Sandburg spoke again, drawing more attention to himself. There was a general shuffling. Jack stepped closer to the seated mob, feeling the vibration that preceded standing, hoping the Guide would just shut up, for a few minutes anyway. Sandburg was unaware, totally captivated by his find, whatever it was. Jack let out a throaty growl, still quiet, sub vocal. More faces turned back to Jack, confused at first then clearing. He tilted his head towards the door. More left the room. But no where near enough.

 

"Their quotients are all above .3. Normal for a Guide is .18. They are all hyper-fertile. Sentinel fertility is normally close to .99 and mundane .93, but Guide fertility is notoriously low." Excitedly, Blair kept talking, oblivious to being the center of so much rapt attention. His low tone gave Jack the impression that the Guide was thinking aloud rather than making an announcement. But he was in a room of at least eighty percent Sentinels. Ducky leaned in closer, his and Blair's bodies brushing, a sigh filled the dead silence. Both men were totally consumed by the data they were reading.

 

Sandburg might as well have been giving a speech. Or he might as well have walked naked into the room. Blair's humming had triggered something. Jack didn't know why or how, he'd never seen anything like it, He was betting it had something to do with being a shaman, able to command so much attention from so many Sentinels.

 

All well and good, Just not now, not in a strange territory, where Blair was essentially an unknown quantity, his status as claimed not a fact of life here.

 

Here Blair was a temptation that was pretty hard to put out of any unbonded Sentinel's mind. Jack knew he was damn lucky himself. His sudden bonding to Martin had given him the strength to resist Sandburg's draw. But he knew the other Sentinels, the majority of whom weren't bonded permanently, weren't having the same luck. They were captivated and the situation was rapidly coming close to being beyond Jack's ability to control. And Sandburg, the shaman, the case of it all, had no idea.

 

Jack tilted his head higher. "Ellison!" He hissed the Cascade Sentinel's name. Ellison tore his eyes free of his Guide and looked directly up into Malone's gaze. Then he looked around the rest of the room. At the Sentinels honed in on his Guide. His growl wasn't nearly as quiet or as civilized as Jack's had been. Jack heard the snap of a holster release, followed just a quickly by the snaps of two more. Rafe, Tiik and Ellison.

 

"So having a quotient of .3 is phenomenal. My own is .32..." Blair rattled on, then stopped, bit his lip again between his teeth and looked up at the almost subliminal gasp that moved through the room's Sentinels. All eyes were fastened on him. He looked from face to face, startled. He flushed red.

 

Jack almost groaned at the visceral rush he felt in his own guts, the scent of the rising blood under Sandburg's skin, at the way all of his senses dialed in to the Guide, he could smell Blair, as if his nose rested in the hollow of the young man's throat. There was a sharp rise in the spurt of Sentinel hormones that suddenly jetted into the room, some of them Jack's own.

 

Ducky, sitting next to Blair was cluing in to the disturbance, his sharp blue eyes traveling around the room, he put a protective arm around Blair. He frowned at the low growls from Sandburg's three Sentinels, and at the interest the room's other Sentinels were displaying for their Guide.

 

Jack quivered where he stood, his skin itching, crawling as he fought against his own instinct. Until a long arm wrapped around him, he felt a bump, looked over to see Danny. Held against his side by Martin, the taller young man, holding both his Sentinels, his handsome face serious, grim. Jack's mind was clear as a bell, that quick. It took only an instant of contact with Martin to regain all of his control. he turned back to the room, looking over the stirring mob of Sentinels.

 

Secret, non-overt lust was perfectly acceptable. Open interest was not. It was rude to both release pheromones and to openly ogle another man's Guide. Jack's eyes widened at the sight of Blair's huge, dark-skinned Sentinel rising ominously to his feet, shoulders as wide any two normal men, a towering six-foot-something-impressive, his teeth gleaming, sharp white in contrast to his ebony skin. Ellison was already in front of Blair, Rafe beside him, guns in their hands. The message was loud and clear.

 

Jack knew he had almost no time left to intervene. But it wasn't he who did the saving. It was Blair. Who smiled a sheepish smile.

 

"Uh, sorry guys." He said to the room in general. He stood up and squeezed between the bodies of his Sentinels, immediately reducing their aggressive stances if not eliminating their suspicions over the intention of the Sentinels around them. The anxiety of the rest of the Sentinels in the room who's agitation had been inching up when he was hidden from view, fell off abruptly. "It's cool. Nothing to worry about." He stroked his hands up and down the tense bodies of his Sentinels.

 

Jim scowled at him. "Chief." He said, the one word filled with censure. Blair ducked his head.

 

"I'm sorry, OK? I wasn't...well, I wasn't paying attention. Come on, big guy, have a seat." Blair crooned into Ellison's ear. Ellison flushed, every inch of his skin pinkening, responding to his Guide's touch. Blair smiled. Jim dragged Blair back with him, out of the place next to Ducky.

 

Within seconds Jack had every eye back on him, every Sentinel studiously facing forward. Stiff, ignoring the little Guide doctor from Cascade. As Jack could not. Because Sandburg had found something important. Crucial. He took two steps to the table where his own copy of the files lay. Martin, anticipating him, had the folder open to the laboratory values sheet of the first Guide who had gone missing.

 

And there it was, in the middle of the page of impossibly small numbers. One value out of hundreds that were measured, that gave a numerical value to every measurable aspect of what a Guide was.... How had Sandburg seen it? Jack and his whole team hadn't noticed it. No one in the FBI had. Not even the Guide specialists. It had taken Sandburg only a day and a half to find it. Jack shook his head in disbelief and admiration. Damn.

 

A new voice spoke up.

 

"Guides are rated once every year on many factors," Ducky began, smoothly filling in the uncomfortable, hormone riddled silence. Jack, Danny and Martin's eyes were fixed on the file. Martin was between Jack and Danny. Jack sniffed. His Guide smelled different. Charged. Jack glanced up into Danny's face, the younger man's brows were raised almost comically high.

 

Jack fought down his surprise. So...Martin liked the idea of that kind of possessiveness? Why had he been so uncomfortable with how Sam treated him then? Because in the continuum of things...Sam came out very strongly on the possessive side, and Martin had been miserable. Jack knew he was missing something. Martin leaned towards him, a faint tremor running through his lean frame. Jack put a steadying hand at the other's back. Martin relaxed at once, and the scent of his arousal rose higher. Jack's own eyebrows headed right for the ceiling. He struggled to focus on anything else, anything but the way his young, vulnerable Guide smelled like. Danny was moving closer yet, his body in as close contact with Martin as possible.

 

This whole briefing idea...it was going bad, more trouble. Jack shook his head. Felt Danny tremble. Felt Martin turn into the other man's side.

 

Ducky went on thoughtfully, as if he was clueless to what was happening around him. As if he didn't notice Blair was no longer beside him. As if Tony wasn't practically in Gibbs' lap, Burleys' face pressed to his neck.

 

"Fertility and fecundity being only one factor that is measured. Sexual arousal is heightened to it's maximum in the young naturally, tipping them up a fraction on the scale, but even accounting for that, it does make this group of Guides stand out remarkably." Ducky patted the stack of charts again, not seeming at all troubled by the Sentinels shifting all around the room.

 

"I recall once in my career, as a young man, just beginning my medical studies, I met a Guide with a fertility quotient of .46. Truly extraordinary. She was a delightful woman, of the Scottish persuasion as I recall. A strong, sturdy female with the most generous of natures, and good childbearing hips as well. She had four children at the time, and was still quite fertile. All her children were Guides like herself, but too young at the time to test for their own fertility quotient. Any testing done before puberty is notoriously inaccurate. No correlation at all with adult numbers."

 

"Ducky." Gibbs sounded both indulgent and half strangled, he hadn't turned around to talk to his ME. He still sat facing forward, ignoring the Cascade group behind him, as was only safe to do. Tony was plastered against his Sentinel's side, chin resting on his shoulder, his other arms flung around Burley who was nervously twitching, wanting to put some space between himself and the men behind him, but too smart to move until the tension had eased further, and the Sentinels had reassured themselves that Sandburg was still theirs. Tony was watching the little tableau avidly, head tilted back, his hazel eyes big and very interested.

 

Sandburg's flannel shirt had lost just about all of it's buttons. The sight of his chest, generously covered in a soft mat of brown hair did more funny things to Jack's insides. He averted his gaze. Tony did not. He lazily flicked out his tongue and tasted the side of his Sentinel's neck. Gibbs wanted to strangle him, or put him to the floor for it, but at this moment in time, doing anything that dominant was a bad thing. He turned his head a fraction and glared. Tony smiled beatifically into the icy blue gaze. He licked the side of Gibb's face. Gibbs growled.

 

Ducky glanced up. Blinked, and seemed to come out of the fog of vivid memory. He smiled his shy, adorable smile. Sheepish.

 

"Oh, yes, I've done it again, haven't I? Sorry Jethro. Carry on,Agent Malone. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just commenting on Blair's observation of the curious coincidence..."

 

"Duck." Gibbs jerked his head, but Abby, a Guide and thus safe enough from any threat from Sandburg's Sentinels was already on her feet and headed towards the little Medical Examiner, who seemed quite unaware of the unhappy Sentinels.

 

"Come on Ducky." Abby said gently, "I need something to drink." She tucked his hand into the crook of her elbow, towering over him in her platform, leather boots. McGee and David wisely followed their Guide from the room. As they passed, more Sentinels stood and rushed out the door, using Abby to shield their movement. that started the mass exodus of the remaining occupants. In minutes the room was almost empty.

 

Jack looked back down at the reports. Damn. One briefing blown to hell, and one clue found. Good and bad. More good than bad since no one had actually gotten into a fight. Martin's chin bumped his ear. A hand found it's way under Jack's unbuttoned jacket. He almost jumped. How long had it been since he had a Guide touch him like that? Too long.

 

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Viv literally fell into her seat. She rubbed her face. "Jesus, Jack." She said.

 

Jack fumbled for his own chair and dropped into it. Danny had Martin seated in the furthest chair from the door to the office. He was leaning over him, cheek resting on Martin's short, soft hair. His eyes were closed. Martin had an arm around Danny's waist as the man sat on the table in front of him. they looked both awkwardly positioned and completely comfortable.

 

"What the hell was that?" Danny asked, his voice plaintive, querulous. Martin's hands smoothed over his back.

 

Jack drew in a deep breath, let it out. "That was a shaman." He said. Then shut his own eyes. He felt like he should have a headache. But instead, he felt as if he'd just had the best bonding experience of his life. He'd had the rush of adrenaline, the surge of testosterone, the rise, the peak. Sex without sex. His body was limp. His mind was now quiet. His breath even. He wanted to relax, lay down, smile, and drift off into sleep. It was only just ten o'clock in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

When he felt as if he had to steal alone time at work there was only one place for Jack Malone to go. To the underground parking garage. To his own, leather upholstered Buick. Ten, fifteen minutes there, alone, reworked his mind, relaxed his anxieties. Put him back on track.

 

The echoing quiet, the smell of gasoline, of oil, of cars old and new. Nothing much human. Only machines. Today he didn't think fifteen minutes was going to do it for him. Not after he read Sandburg's report on Sam Spade.

 

Forty pages. Jack couldn't have typed it let alone thought it out in the time Dr Sandburg had had. Forty pages. And it made sense. Damn it. If it was drivel, if it was more of that touchy-feely shit, Jack wouldn't think twice about it, he'd dismiss it as more crap and move on. But it wasn't. It wasn't shit. It wasn't crap. Not a single word of it. And the Advocates in the Sentinel Court would know it wasn't. Damn it.

 

Jack swore under his breath.

 

Jack let his head fall back onto the headrest. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Damn. Damn. Damn. He'd hoped Elena's assessment was right, that Sandburg had found something to help his wayward agent. Some small modicum of hope that proved his agent's innocent intent. Elena thought so, thought it was there in the words the Guide Doctor had written. But Jack...had seen too many reports, read between too many lines. Not that the report wasn't refreshingly direct, with no verbose beating around the bush.

 

Elena saw hope here, in these teeming words. But Jack knew better. Even seeing Blair in his mind's eye, kneeling on the floor in front of the bank of elevators, recalling the olive skinned hand stroking the downed Sentinel, the soothing murmurs of the Cascade Guide to the restrained Sentinel. Even remembering all of that, the earnest attempt to soothe a troubled Sentinel, Jack knew this report, written by this widely admired expert, would sink Sam as surely as Sam was sinking herself.

 

Sam was talking now, but not saying much of any worth. She was leading the interviewers, the psychiatrists on a merry chase for the most part. Jack knew exactly what she was doing. Buying time, playing cat and mouse, a game he'd seen her excel at with witnesses and suspects alike, offering her soft smile for any tidbit given.

 

But the others, the men and women who were talking to her now, they didn't know Sam. They didn't see what Jack saw. They didn't know what was truth and what was a game. Further they didn't care if she was playing a game. They saw her as a Sentinel who arrogantly abused a Guide and showed no remorse for her actions. They didn't care why she'd done it.

 

Jack didn't like what she was saying. Some truth, some obfuscations. He didn't see the point of what she was doing. She was digging herself a hole on purpose. Still refusing to admit Martin wasn't hers. She wasn't confessing to improper coercion, to abuse, but every word coming out of her mouth was digging the hole deeper. Her advocate was telling her to shut up. Sam wasn't listening. Martin Fitzgerald was hers and she was letting everyone who would listen to her know it.

 

Jack fingered the confidential memo that Sandburg had written. He'd folded the manila cover closed, creased the spine with obsessive precision. It wasn't what he'd expected from the way Elena had thought it would make a difference in Sam's defense and punishment. Yet, Jack was forced to the conclusion Sandburg had the right of it, of Sam, not Elena. Elena who had worked with Sam for years was farther off the mark than the Guide who had known Sam from only a very brief encounter. Guide? Hell no, the boy was a Shaman. He was... Jack shook his head.

 

The first true Shaman Jack had met. He looked mostly unremarkable. Outwardly, sure he was attractive. So what. It was the interior, the ability that was hidden in that small compact body that was shocking.

 

Jack shook his head again, swore. More bad luck to meet a Shaman when he needed someone far less acute when it came to Sam's case. Until he could figure out what she was hiding. What was driving her to act like she was. Guilt overran Jack. No. Not fair. It was after all Sandburg who had found the only clue so far. The Guides who had been taken needed all the help they could get, as did Jack's team and the FBI if the Guides were going to be found.

 

Still....

 

When Jack read the report he got the impression Sandburg was eerily aware of ulterior motivations that ran Sam's actions. It was chilling to read those words that implied everything and revealed nothing, and realise they were based on one meeting of a few minutes duration. Sandburg had managed to channel Sam so accurately Jack's skin creeped. Every word of the assessment rang true. Jack could have painted a perfect portrait of Sam from the Guide's words.

 

Where Elena saw help for Sam, Jack saw a problem. He hoped he was wrong. But he kept going back to the most damning line in the document, something was driving Sam. Not purely instinct. Something else. A single line and Jack couldn't forget it. What did it mean? What was Sam doing, really? And why?

 

Jack glanced at his watch, shocked to find that more than thirty minutes had flown by. He had to get back. No way that his absence hadn't been noted, remarked upon. The leather seats creaked under him as he shifted, reaching for the door handle. He'd meant for a quarter of an hour, no more. Enough time to be assumed to have taken a quick trip to the restroom, or have gone for a cup of coffee or a danish. Thirty minutes. Too long.

 

He climbed out of his car, locked it. Headed for the stairs. He would take a few more minutes and grab a cup of herbal tea and a sandwich, maybe no one would ask where he'd been after seeing the food. If he was lucky they would assume.

 

Herbal tea, Jack grimaced. Another Sandburg thing. The cup of lemon mint tea Sandburg brought into the office this morning had smelled so clean, so pure, Jack found himself craving some of it, wanting to taste the cool tang of it.

 

He rode the elevator up to the first floor commissary.

 

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James Ellison, Sentinel of Cascade, poured over the information spread out on the table. Blair had found it, the little clue in all of the mess. Seemingly innocuous, except that it was one of the most private bits of information in the nation today. A Guide's fertility rating. Never bandied about as common knowledge, except, perhaps by Blair when it came to his own rating. Jim's mouth quirked up at the edges. That little revelation, that little number blurted out, had to be one reason the Sentinels here were eying up his Guide like a perfectly grilled steak.

 

Blair. His Guide wasn't like other Guides. He didn't accept many of the mores and moral stances of society, to be sure. Blair did understand the need for privacy, and grudgingly admitted there would be chaos if things like fertility scores were made generally public. There would be fights in the street over the most fertile. Insult taken over the implied slight of being given a Guide with a lower rating than the Sentinels next door.

 

Jim shook his head. Damn if he cared what Sandburg's rating was. He'd taken the young Guide, number's unrevealed, and had been grateful as hell for him every day since. Even when Blair drove him nuts. Like yesterday. Whipping an entire room of Sentinels to the edge of a frenzy before cluing in.

 

Jim laughed to himself. Chaos. It seemed to follow his Guide as reliably as his curly mop of hair.

 

Chaos. Like would follow if the fertility quotients were made public. To say nothing of if the figures on Guide arousal were public information. If a Sentinel knew his or her Guide would never or almost never request sex, if the Sentinel had no hope of it...what unrest would that stir? Jim shook his head again. More chaos.

 

The point was, someone had access to the confidential files kept on unbonded Guides. Medical information protected by strict federal law. No one should be able to get to it without top clearance. It was need to know at the highest level, only the medical personnel directly involved in Guide assessment, their physicians, were privy to the exact numbers. Yet, someone had managed to find a way into the data bank. It was too much a co-incidence that all the disappeared Guides were of high fertility and high arousal groups.

 

Sandburg could probably whip out the statistics and quote the numbers off the top of his head on how rare certain combinations were. Jim just knew enough to know it wasn't by any means a coincidence. Some one pretty high up had targeted these Guides. It was his job, the job of the rest of the group of investigators, to find out who, where, why and what was happening. What was the sinister plan that was taking shape. And stop it.

 

Rafe was manning the phones, listening to the calls coming in to the call center tip-line with a Sentinel's ear. Listening to sincerity, heart rate, stress, anxiety, excitement. Ferreting out truth from lies. Sure, the FBI had Sentinels there already, doing the exact same thing. But Jim wasn't familiar with them, or their skill level, or their competence. For all he knew they were brand new, still learning to manage their senses. He knew Rafe's gifts. He trusted him to know how to use them. So Rafe was listening.

 

Tiikanen was re-visiting all the places where the Guides were known to have disappeared from. Combing over the scenes, talking to the people who had been around at the times the Guides vanished. He would be alert to the subliminal clues that would indicate a buried or unconscious recall of the event. And he would discover the hidden facts if they had any hope of being recovered at all.

 

Blair was here, near Jim, within hearing distance, chatting happily, going over the remainder of the medical charts usually kept under lock and key with the NCIS ME, Dr Mallard. Dr Mallard who had to be well into his seventies, but who had utterly charmed Jim's Guide. Blair was a very open, affectionate man. He had no macho hangups. The difference in their ages meant nothing to Blair. In fact, if Ducky had been a Sentinel, Jim would have been agitated over the instant closeness, contemplating a challenge, or a duel over Blair. As it was....well, the choice was always the Guide's.

 

Forcing his mind back to his task, Jim Ellison continued going through and reading all the crime scene reports. At the same time he catalogued away in his Sentinel memory the scent of every person who had touched the file, the hundreds of partial and complete fingerprints on the pages. You never knew when it would come in handy.

 

In the very back of his awareness, the steady heartbeat of his Guide grounded him.

 

 

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The low moan cut through Gibbs' distracted reverie.

 

Deep and loaded with a trembling need, from far down in the back of Tony's throat. It vibrated the marrow of Jethro's bones. He shivered, his skin going tight, his own throat dry.

 

Damn him. Tony had been all but insatiable since Burley had joined them. The Guide was determined to taste all that the blond had to offer. His predatory pursuit of the man was driving Gibbs mad. Except, Tony pursued Jethro just as doggedly. Teaased him within an inch of both their lives.

 

Gibbs admitted that he was a little jealous, at the same time he hadn't the slightest doubt that Tony was dedicated to him. But Tony wasn't normal. He never had been normal. He was a Guide, yes, and a damn good one. But he aspired to be a Sentinel. Gibbs smirked. Leave it to DiNozzo. He was so highly sexed it wasn't possible to keep up with him for any one Sentinel. Very much a non-Guide characteristic.

 

He had the moves, the strength, the drive of a Sentinel, and the sex drive of one. Yet also the gifts of the most sensitive of Guides. He was abnormally tall for a Guide. Exceeding by a half foot the tallest other Guide Gibbs had ever met. It was the Sentinel who was expected to be tall. Ziva David was the smallest Sentinel Gibbs had run into. But she was a woman, and female Sentinels were an unpredictable lot, rarer and outside of the norms for male Sentinels.

 

Another moan floated out of the open bedroom of their suite. Gibbs wryly thought it a good thing that Abby, Tim and Ziva were down trolling through the FBI labs, and that Ducky was off somewhere with Sandburg. Doing god knows what. Another strange Guide that one was, far odder to Gibbs' mind than his Tony.

 

To tell the truth, the little Guide from Cascade freaked Leroy Jethro Gibbs out. He'd never felt anything like the "thing" in the briefing yesterday. He'd had no control over his own responses and by damn, that never happened to him. And no choice over the aftermath, either. He'd dragged Tony back to the suite and drilled him into the mattress.

 

Tony being only too willing to go along with that wild moment of unsolicited sex. His expressive face lit with delight, his long, muscular legs wrapped around Gibbs' waist, his head thrown back. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Sweat dewing his face, his upper lip, his mouth rosy with flushed blood. His slightly knobby knees poking into Jethro's ribs, the soft, sliding press of his scrotum above Jethro's pubic bone, the wet, clinging heat of his silken ass....

 

Gibbs shuddered, his hand finding it's way to his fly, to the zipper, lowering it. He cupped his hardening genitals. Tony was hotter than a box of firecrackers, and anytime Gibbs touched him it was overwhelming. The fire that burned between them. No matter how much Gibbs tried to believe it was real between the times they were together, he couldn't remember it as it was.

 

Incendiary. Blinding. His senses hopelessly fritzed out after and during. Sharp and bell clear every other moment of every day. Nothing like before Tony. He'd thought he was gifted, hell he was told he was gifted before Tony. Held in awe for his abilities as a Sentinel Investigator. But...after Tony...it was so much more. Fuck. Unbelievably more. Imagine, Mother Gibbs' little boy held up like some icon, some son of a Sentinel god. Gibbs smirked. Yeah, like that made any sense.

 

He heard the rising cries that signified Burley losing control. He heard it, felt the wash of heat coming from the room beyond, couldn't miss the smell of sex, the sound of fucking. He stood, his hand still buried in the flies of his pants. Wrapped around his hard cock, thumb raking over the sensitive head of his dick.

 

Shit. Fucking beautiful all over again. Tony arched back, somehow pillows that should have been wedged under his ass, dislodged, tilting him to the side as if displayed like a steaming, sweating work of renaissance art, his head off the end of the bed, his hair in disarray, his face...oh god his face... The aroused scent of him, his abandon.

 

The desperate, grunting, disbelieving cries of Stan who had certainly never met up with a Guide like Tony before, flushed pink, his blond locks, so soft Gibbs remembered, curled into damp ringlets.

 

Tony's cock, hard as iron, rising up off of his belly, quivering, pointing at Gibbs' eye. Straining upwards as if trying to reach across the space that separated them. Tony groaning, grunting, too, nipples tight points on his lightly furred chest, tipped ceiling-ward. Another thrust, and Tony's torso was falling off the bed. The curve of his back impossible as he hung limp, burning with sex, with need, begging with the lines of his body, with the melted heat of his loins for that last little push to take him over the edge.

 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Tony garbled the word. Stan froze over him, in him, at last lost, spurting into him, eyes wide and mouth open, panting, fingers like claws dug into his hips, holding him still, streaming perspiration, his hands clutching Tony's hips the only thing holding that part of the Guide on the bed, under him as he finished. Stan folded like a house of cards, dropping to the bed across Tony's thighs.

 

Then Tony's eyes flashed open. Finding Gibbs' unerringly. Smiling his hot, seductive smile, promising paradise. His tongue peeked out, licked over his rose-red lips. Hazel eyes burnt amber brown. Tony swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in the long, stretched length of his neck, his arms trailing to the floor, one hand twitching, the other curled and still on the carpet of the floor. Still burning hot. Aching with need. He let out a sound that was almost a whimper.

 

Hearing that sound, Gibbs coudn't breathe.

 

Five steps to reach Tony. A second to fall to his knees, and Gibbs had Tony in his mouth, buried full length in his throat. Sucking that long, hard cock into his mouth, past the back of his throat and deeper down. Swallowing the bitter salts of precome. Feeling it dribbling, uncontrolled over his taste buds, his tongue. He moaned around the choking thickness. Ignoring the distant mumble of the other, half-conscious, satiated Sentinel up on the bed, tangled in DiNozzo's splayed legs.

 

Tony's hand reached up, uncoordinated, knotting in the short, silver hair, cupping the skull, guiding his Sentinel. Making little petting motions with his long fingers against Gibb's scalp. Thrusting, slow, hard, growling in the back of his own throat. Stan, above him all but insensate, shaking, dizzy, propped up on trembling arms, his sweat spattering onto the back of Gibbs' head.

 

Gibbs pulled off, took a breath, plunged down again, sucking.

 

"Suck me, suck me, suckme...." Tony chanted breathlessly, the words bursting against Jethro's belly, into the fly of his pants, over the erection he was so furiously masturbating as he fellated his Guide. Loved his Guide. Sucked him. Reached up and felt the softening cock still buried in Tony's body, slipping, slipping.

 

"Aw fuck, Gibbs. Gibbs. Love you, love you.....ove...." Tony stiffened, shuddered, cried out wordlessly at the end, keening, thighs spasming up around Gibb's ears. Gibbs heard the moist sound of Burley's soft dick falling out of him, heard Tony's little hiss of awareness of the event.

 

And the reward. Bitter, hot strings of pearly, slickness filling his mouth. He drank them down greedily, while Tony gasped, twitched. Gibbs ground his head into Tony's belly, his chin rasped by wet pubic curls, nose buried in drawn up balls, taking every bit of fluid, his Guide, his due, his knees aching, ground into the carpet.

 

Gibbs yelped around Tony's length buried down his throat, ejaculated, filling his hand with his own come.


	8. Chapter 8

Tim McGee was crouched over the computer keyboard his fingers flashing. His face was only inches from the screen, his eyes blazing with the zeal of a true geek. His shoulders were hunched forward, his tongue caught between his small teeth. Nothing short of a bomb was gong to get him out of his chair for the foreseeable future.

 

Ziva watched her partner, arms crossed over her chest. She was standing back a few feet, out of the way in case Abby decided to leap to her feet and do the usual victory dance that followed finding a clue.

 

Abby was on a second computer, typing just as fast with one hand as McGee was with two, while noisily sucking on a straw buried in two liters of iced cola by Ziva's conservative estimation.

 

She wondered sometimes, how she'd ended up with these two. Neither much like herself, but they all fit so well. Got on without much trouble. The one thing...Ziva missed sex.

 

More sex. Not that there wasn't any sex in their bonding. There was sex. Good sex, great sex. But Abby wasn't in the mood as often as Ziva would like. Ziva was a Sentinel, and sex was always on her mind. It didn't help that she had to work with that hound DiNozzo either. DiNozzo was getting all the sex Ziva was not. And he had the bad taste to flaunt it, at the office, too, until Gibbs smacked him back into his best behavior.

 

When it came to sex, McGee was fine, a bit, well, geeky but hot enough once you got him going. Still, he was probably one of the most easily distractable partners Ziva had ever had. If he got an idea, a flash during foreplay...well, Ziva understood frustration a little too well. And he talked, even during sex. Too much. Ziva preferred action over talking, over fantasy.

 

Her mouth curled again, in another hidden, fond smile. She ducked her head. Shouldn't take the chance letting someone else see her smile so often. Her dark, fierce rep wouldn't hold up against the rumor she had a sense of humor.

 

"I see you." It was McGee. Quiet, virtually silent, amused. His eyes meeting hers in the reflection of his monitor. She humphed. Turning her head to the side. But not before rewarding him with another secret smile. He beamed back. Sometimes, he was so...cute.

 

Abby, with her Guide hearing, had missed the whole exchange. But something clued her in. She spun around on her seat, fixing Ziva with her dark eyes. Taking another long pull on the immense soda. Her lipsticked mouth, a black shade today, caressed the straw. Ziva felt sweat start to prickle down her back.

 

"OK, guys, what did I miss?" Abby asked.

 

Ziva pasted her most innocent look on her face. "Abby?" She asked, raising a single brow. Abby rolled her eyes and spun back around, managing to flounce in her seat, without getting up.

 

Abby's pigtails bounced as she rocked to some strange punkish band blaring in her earphones. Ziva smiled wider, rubbing her nose to hide it. There was no one else in their area of the lab to see her do it. She made sure of that. No one to guess how much she liked watching her partners work. How much she liked seeing her Guide so in her element. blithely happy.

 

Ziva's eyes slid down Abby's long slender back to her truly luscious hips barely concealed at all by the short black mini skirt. She folded her fingers together tightly where she'd wedged them under her arms. If she didn't she'd give in and touch the side of the pale neck. Trace along the faintly raised ridged of the spiderweb tattoo, tilt Abby's head back and plant a kiss on her cola flavored lips.

 

Ziva's eyes lifted. Within moments she'd located the four surveillance cameras that kept watch over the lab at all times. She wouldn't give in and touch her Guide. It wasn't private enough here. She kept her arms folded across her chest. It was enough to be near her. Enough to smell her quirky-odd perfume, her skin, the scent that was all Abby.

 

Abby gave a final slurp. Then rattled the ice in the bottom of the empty cup. Jug, Ziva corrected herself. It wasn't a cup it was a jug. Abby frowned, pushing away from the computer screen, twirling a top her elevated chair. "I need some more." She stated. Forlornly rattling the cup a second time.

 

"What did you find, McGee?" Ziva asked impatiently, glancing at their Guide incredulously. "You just drank enough of that stuff to keep the entire FBI staff of agents awake for a week." She said to Abby.

 

"Nothing." McGee said, sitting back at last. "There is nothing here." He sounded puzzled, and vaguely offended. His lower lip stuck out a bit, as if he was pouting. The temptation to smile hit her again, and she had to battle it down.

 

Abby rattled her cup again, looking plaintive. "No one brings me...." She began, only to be cut off as the door to the lab swished open. Gibbs entered, followed by Stan Burley. A good looking man, Ziva admitted, and devoted to Gibbs. Tony was no where to be seen. Abby's eyes were fixed on the huge cup in the older man's right hand. The left held a steaming cup of coffee.

 

Gently, Gibbs set the larger container of soda next to Abby. She beamed up at him.

 

"Abs, McGee, Ziva, what have we got?" Jethro Gibbs asked. Ziva sniffed delicately. Tim looked at her incredulously then spun on his seat to face the opposite way, his face as rigidly controlled as possible.

 

Gibbs glared a warning at his Sentinel agent, daring her to say a single thing about the scent of sex that hung around him, and Burley despite an extended, very hot shower and scrub. Ziva rewarded him with the faintest of smirks, not taking full advantage of teasing him. Her mind was instead on Burley. Who also smelled of sex. Who was not a regular team member. Who might be open to a little female action. Ziva tilted her head, telegraphing her interest. The blond man blushed scarlet. 

 

Gibbs glanced over at her, at Burley, shook his head. "Give it up, David." The unspoken message perfectly obvious. It wasn't wise to trespass on territory DiNozzo viewed as his. Ziva frowned. Damn the man.

 

"We've got exactly nothing." Abby complained, wrapping her lips around the impossibly long straw of the new drink and sucking happily, Ziva shivered, covering her erect nipples with her crossed arms.

 

"I need something Abs. Find me something." Gibbs said shooting Ziva another look. She stared back stoically, daring him to comment on the surge of pheromones filling the air.

 

Damn, she needed to get laid. Ziva refused to let her gaze flicker.

 

"Uh," McGee chanced a look over his shoulder, his eyes wide, darting between Gibbs and Ziva. He licked his lips, nervously, uncertain. "Sure boss, we'll find something."

 

"Now, people. We needed it yesterday, McGee, get to work!" And Gibbs turned, leaving the lab, Burley at his side, the two Sentinels murmuring quietly.

 

"Lunch time." Abby announced twenty minutes later, pushing back from the desk. "Who is going with?"

 

"Hmmm." McGee said, vaguely.

 

"Not hungry." Ziva added. She wasn't hungry, not for food anyway. Maybe if they were alone she could drag him over to their suite for a quickie, like Gibbs and Burley had obviously done with Tony. She was focused on McGee, his posture was more erect, as if he was hot on the trail of...something. Or aware of her eyes fixed on his back.

 

"Well, I am." Abby snatched up her black leather mini backpack, working her arms through the spindly straps. Backpacks should be strong, sturdy, in no danger of breaking if grabbed. Ziva despaired of the new, fashionable ones. They were completely useless.

 

Abby continued, still hopeful of diverting her Sentinels. "I was talking to one of the agents. There is this little cafe...." But her Sentinels were ignoring her, intent on the chase for information. She rolled her eyes dramatically, waved a hand at them, giving them up as a lost cause, and sashayed out of the lab.

 

She'd go to the cafe before the rush, pick up a few servings of pasta, different sauces, of course, and by the time she was back they both would be ravenous. She grinned. Wave it under McGee's nose a few times....and presto!

 

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"Gibbs." It was Stan Burley who pulled him out of his increasingly restless examination of the case files. Gibbs was feeling irritable, frustrated. Uneasy. He snapped at the other man.

 

"Yeah, Stan?" Gibbs asked looking up his brows lowered in a frown. "What is it?" His jaw was clenched. Burley took all of that in, and spoke anyway. He was well used to Gibbs from when they'd been mentor and student. It was nothing new now. Especially when he was legitimately concerned.

 

"Tony has been gone for a while." Burley commented quietly. Then he waited. One beat, two, then Gibbs' unhappy voice responded.

 

"Yeah, I know." Gibbs growled. "He went with Abs to eat." He was trying to project an attitude of nonchalance. Of confidence that Tony could take care of himself, Guide or not. And normally Stan would have agreed. Hell, DiNozzo had taken ~him~ down more than once. But. Today. Something was wrong. And they were in the city of disappeared Guides.

 

"An hour." Burely said, firmly, undeterred. "Tony's been gone an hour." His blue eyes were patient, but underneath they were anything but. Gibbs read the agitation in them. Felt his own answering unease.

 

Gibbs straightened up. "An hour?" That was too long, even for Tony who could eat a horse in ten minutes flat. Even with Abby's no stop conversation. His eyes lifted to the plain face of the institutional clock hanging over their heads on the far wall.

 

His warning bells were going off now big time.

 

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Jack took his seat and sighed. Rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. Too much to worry about. Not enough that he could do. He wanted to be able to close this case. To find the Guides. To file the paperwork for Sentinel/Guide new bond leave, and have an entire month off to concentrate on Martin and Danny. Like the two young men deserved. Needed. And it wasn't a lie that Jack needed it, too. Down time.

 

His secretary poked his head in, expression grim as it ever got. "Call for you on line three." He pursed his lips a fraction. Whispered, "Director Fitzgerald's office." Spun on his heel and left.

 

Jack looked at the telephone with intense approbation. The last person he wanted to talk to about this case, right now, was Martin's father. The man was devious, untrustworthy. Too well connected to dismiss. He liked to interfere in any high profile case. Jack sighed again and reached for the hand set.

 

"Malone." He kept his voice neutral, which was the best he could do when talking to the man. They'd had an instant dislike from their very first meeting. Fitzgerald saying none to privately, that of course Jack wasn't a company man. Not career FBI. Jack at the time was a young and impressionable agent, two years on the job, and fiercely loyal to the FBI and it's goals. Fitzgerald had barely five years in. But Jack watched the other man's meteoric rise, far faster than his talents should allow, all the way to one of the directorships. Where he sat like some untouchable potentate, surveying his kingdom. Political connections and country club memberships were useful in Washington. Lots of money was, too.

 

"Malone you son of a bitch. I will not stand for you taking out your frustrations with me, your jealousies on my son. I won't have it." Jack wasn't prepared for the vitriol that flowed down the line.

 

Jack was stunned. "Sir...." He tried to be civil, but the man on the other end ran right over him. Drowning him out, almost shouting.

 

"I'll have your job, Malone, if you lay one hand on Martin. I don't care who you paid off, or what you promised them to sanction this bonding, it is not going to last. So don't you lay one finger on him. And if I find out you have...have...forced him into your bed, if you've soiled him, in anyway...."

 

Jack quietly cradled the phone in the middle of the rampage. Christ, just what he needed. Martin's father after his ass with a political sledge hammer. Or perhaps a literal one. Jack wouldn't necessarily find it impossible to believe the man would balk at having him killed. He'd view it in much the same frame as putting down an animal. And he certainly knew the right kind of people to have it done quietly.

 

Jack was pulled out of his dark, morose thoughts by a ruckus in the outer area. An agitated buzz of activity. He raised his head, something indefinable pulling him to his feet.

 

"...Guide...down....ambulance...." He heard echoing in the far office that NCIS had taken over in the FBI building. One second of absolute, shocked silence from down there.

 

Jack was out in the hall and headed NCIS way to find out what the hell was happening, when Special Agent Gibbs and Agent Burley burst out of the room, followed closely by a flushed FBI agent who was panting more with adrenaline than with exertion.

 

Jack snagged her jacket. "Tell me." He barked, as Ellison and Tiikanen flashed past him coming from one door further down the hall than the NCIS agents had. Jack's ears told him Rafe and Sandburg remained in the Cascade room.

 

"Guide..." the woman panted. "He's been beaten. Found him in the alley..."

 

Jack was gone, past a startled Martin, who had gotten to his feet when Gibbs ran past. His hazel eyes found Jack's. "Don't you leave him for an instant." Jack yelled, pointing his finger directly at Danny who was showing signs of following him. Danny stopped in mid-step and turned back to Martin, hand on the butt of his gun. Then Jack was thundering down the stairs.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

It had all been captured on a security camera. A white van with FBI plates pulled up to the side of the building two doors down, far enough away that the Guardians weren't monitoring the area closely.

 

Abby walked into the frame, carrying her large cup of cola, her tiny back pack secured to her upper back, bouncing a little as she walked. The van door opened, men poured out, faces concealed. Arms reached for her, even as she realized something was wrong and whirled to run, her mouth opening for a scream that she never got out. A hand clapped over her mouth. The soda flew out of her hand, a coffee colored arc of ice and soda. She stomped one man's foot with her high rise boots. He let go of her, but two more took his place.

 

They dragged her, struggling, towards the van. A small spray canister flashed in one man's hand. A cloud of spray misting into her face. She sagged.

 

Then Tony was there, in the middle of the group of kidnappers. Fighting as hard as Gibbs had ever seen him fight, taking down three in the space of a few moments. Fighting to rescue Abby. But the numbers were overwhelming. Even Tony didn't stand a chance. Eventually one of the men got in a lucky blow to the back of his head and he crumpled to the asphalt. The man with the spray stepped forward and dosed Tony with two quick shots of the drug. Jack could see the big Guide's eyes roll up in his head as he lost consciousness.

 

The van tore away from the scene with Abby closed inside.

 

Tim let out a sound agonized loss, high and painful, as he watched his Guide disappear. Tony, seated on the one occupied chair in the room, his head hanging, hands limp, winced. Ziva's face twitched as she refused to take her eyes off the screen as the recording was played back for the third time.

 

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." Tony mumbled through swollen lips. "God, Tim, Ziva...I'm..." Tim shuddered, let out a sound like a wounded animal.

 

"David, McGee." Gibbs voice was firm, his eyes burning, intense. Tim let out a moan, his only reply. Gibbs crossed over to him, put his hand behind the younger man's neck, shook him gently. "We'll get her back." Gibbs promised.

 

McGee raised wounded eyes, his shoulders heaved.

 

Jack watched as Tony staggered to his feet, tilting decidedly to the left. Stan catching his elbow and supporting him, keeping him from ending up on the floor, crowding close to him to keep him upright. Despite being pretty clearly concussed Tony had adamantly refused to go to the hospital. He'd barely endured the medics cleaning and dressing his scrapes and the few cuts he'd sustained, icing his swollen mouth. His knuckles were bruised, battered.

 

Tony looped his long arms around McGee, holding the other man tightly. They clung to each other, rocking each other. Tony openly weeping, mumbling over and over how sorry he was. Tim looking like he was going into shock, hands fisting in Tony's shirt. His mouth open, no sound escaping, not even to Sentinel ears.

 

Ziva bit her lip, hard. Tony stretched out one arm, trying to grab onto her, too. She shied away from his hand, evading him. "No." Spat out from between clenched teeth.

 

"Oh, my dear." Said Ducky, stepping up. "Oh, my dear." He braved her watery glare and encircled her in a snug embrace. He patted Ziva's back. "Now don't you worry, Jethro will find her."

 

Ziva's eyes met Gibbs over Ducky's shoulder. Her mouth moved, almost soundlessly.

 

But the Sentinels in the room heard her clear enough. "And then they die."


	9. Chapter 9

Three hours missing.......

 

"We have the GPS location of the van." Danny Taylor said as he entered the room. All heads turned his way. His tie was loose, his hair sticking up in a way that told Jack the young man had been running a hand through it over and over, his frequent response to both stress and excitement. Jack itched to step over and smooth it down, to tame the unruly mess.

 

He also wanted to wrap his arms around the younger man and hold him, reassure him, love him, keep him safe. Just as he wanted to keep Martin safe. Martin, his new Guide, who no doubt fit the profile of the Guides that were disappearing better than any other Guide left in this building that Jack was aware of. Anyone who lay a single hand on his Guide without permission was going to be drawing back a stump. Jack knew that plan wasn't exactly civilized, but it was the best he was going to do right now. Later, maybe he'd rethink that plan, but not now.

 

It should have been good news that the van had been located, but Jack could tell from the look on Danny's face that it wasn't. He stifled the urge to groan, steeling himself for the news. Gibbs also picked up on the young man's tone, the muscle in his clenched jaw jumping dangerously as he stepped over.

 

"The van is here, parked downstairs in the parking garage." Danny said. He looked unhappy. "Downstairs. In ~our~ parking lot."

 

Jack was floored. He felt behind him for the table, and dropped his butt down onto it. Fuck. The van was here. It wasn't a group of strangers, it was...someone...someone from inside the FBI was running this caper. Someone who he'd probably looked in the eye. Someone he knew. Maybe someone he'd talked to, even today. No wonder they were keeping one step ahead, they knew every move that was being made to find them. It made sense that the van was here only if the FBI was responsible for taking Abby. An agent of the FBI. Double fuck.

 

"Security footage?" Gibbs rapped out the question. His face was stone, and he spoke through gritted teeth. Obviously the significance hadn't escaped him. Very slowly his gaze drifted over to meet Jack's. Jack saw all the suspicion and condemnation he expected, and a healthy dose of disgust. He read it in the unforgiving look in the eyes that burned him right where he stood.

 

Danny was talking through the buzzing in Jack's ears, his words falling over each other, until only a Sentinel would be able to tease them apart, make sense of them.

 

Jack heard the Cascade Guide turn to the big man next to him and ask, "What?"

 

"Yes. The driver of the van entered the garage, parked next to the east stairwell, exited on the far side of the vehicle, used the stairs to the first floor and exited through the front lobby. He knew where the cameras were, new where he could avoid being filmed, there isn't any identifiable footage of his face." Martin stepped up to Danny, not touching him, but standing near. He looked over the few feet that separated him from Jack. Jack raised a hand, palm out in a stop motion, keeping Martin where he was, next to Danny. He levered himself off of the table and went to his Guide and his young Sentinel. He stood shoulder to shoulder with them.

 

"I want to see it. The tape." Ellison spoke up from the back of the room, his voice a dangerous growl. "We may not have a good look at his face, but if we can see how he moves. That is almost as good." He moved closer, a deadly predator, lithe and easy on his feet. Jack wouldn't be all that surprised if he sprang upwards and clung to the ceiling by a set of previous concealed, long claws. There was something not quite human about the man, the way he moved. Men with his kind of extreme training often moved like that. The big man, Tiikanen did. Rafe didn't, not so much. Though Jack had no doubt he was also a very bad man to cross.

 

The Sentinel from Cascade's blue eyes telegraphed the full depth of his anger. Unlike Gibbs' eyes that didn't give much of anything away, Ellison's were like splintered glass. "I want to recognize this mother-fucker if he comes near me or mine." Jack hoped Ellison would get his chance at the men and women who were behind the kidnappings. They deserved the reception he'd give them.

 

Jack's face transmitted his acquiescence, but also his doubt that it was going to be that easy, watch a man walk and find him? In a building the size of this one? With as many agents and civilians as worked here? He didn't have high hopes, but he also didn't believe in wasting any chance they had. He nodded once, giving his consent.

 

Danny saw the movement. "I'll get it set up." He said and stepped out of the room to find a room with a computer set up to play the encoded digital tapes.

 

Ellison shrugged, gaze no warmer than frost in February. He sniffed a short sharp burst of displeasure.

 

"If we had more time, Agent Malone, I'd let you put us through any test you could think of. But the reality is, we don't have the luxury. So you are going to have to take my word for it. If we," he indicated the two very still Sentinels behind him, "see how a person moves, walks, bends, stands, we can pick him out of a crowd. Guaranteed. I want him before he takes one more Guide. Before he has a chance at my Guide."

 

Jack's phone rang before he could reply. He answered, listening to Danny tell him what room they could use. "Follow me." He said, and they trooped out of the room.

 

Jack took the unusual precaution of locking the door. He had a key, and Viv had a key, other than that, it would take a formal request to the security department to get inside. Jack was done sharing information. No more. No briefings, no chances to eavesdrop. Not until he had the assholes responsible where he wanted them, in a jail cell.

 

"Is the tape set up?" Jack asked Danny, he reached out his hand towards Martin as they stepped into the room, and the Guide moved to his side. Martin was next to Jack and was going to stay there, he wasn't going anywhere alone. Jack felt like Ellison had the right of it. Who ever was collecting the Guides wasn't done yet. The rest of the special task force crowded into the room behind Jack and Martin, Danny was already at the controls. Jack had the important people in his life where he needed them to be, within arms' reach. That accomplished he turned his attention to the security tape.

 

"Run it." Jack ordered. They sat through one showing, silent, all looking for any clue, any shred of missed evidence that might have been overlooked. He couldn't see it, couldn't see anything distinctive about the man, the gender was at least apparent, who had exited the building. The man had either waited for the right moment, or gotten lucky, leaving with a crowd of others. He didn't stand out at all. Just another man leaving a busy building. A man responsible for kidnapping Guides.

 

After the fifth showing Jack gave up on spotting anything new. He extended his hand and took Martin's in his own. He sat, in the relative dark, holding his Guide's hand. Really the most intimate contact he'd had with the young man to this point. Sleeping in the bed at the house, well it was big enough to accommodate an army. Contact had been minimal. Now, Jack needed the reassurance that Martin wasbeside him, was safe. He wanted Martin to know that he cared. The Guide's long fingers, longer than Jack's own thicker digits, wrapped gently around his.

 

All Guides in the building were under strict orders to remain in the company of at least two Sentinels. And to be armed as well as the Sentinels.

 

Blair was stationed at the table nearest to the screen where the images were being shown, he was peering myopically up at the replay. Tiik and Brian sat one to either side of him, less than a single arm's length from his shoulder. But Blair was shaking his head.

 

"I don't see it. Nothing." He murmured, disappointed. Tiikanen looped a long arm over his Guide's shoulders. Silent as he watched the replay with no less attention than he had the first time. Rafe leaned in speaking almost directly into Blair's ear. Jack barely heard the whisper.

 

"This is our turn to do the leg work. We'll get him." Blair turned his face, lifted his chin. Obediently Rafe dropped a comforting kiss on his upturned mouth, ran gentle fingers along his jawline. "Don't worry love, we'll get the bastards."

 

"There is no reason for them to take her. Not if the numbers are the reason. Her numbers aren't remarkable at all." Blair whispered back to his Sentinel. "Her numbers are average, a little below. Why take her? I can't make sense of it."

 

"If there is one fact that doesn't fit, ignore it." Rafe offered as the light came back up, eight replays apparently all that Ellison and crew wanted to see for now. "We've come into DC and shaken the anthill. Take the pattern from before. Don't forget Abby, but don't get sidetracked, Blair. We changed the mix. Just being here we changed it."

 

"They are sending us a message." Tiikanen said, his deep voice was easily heard throughout the moderately sized room. "They can get to our Guides whenever they want. Even under the eyes of the FBI, in the middle of their fortress, Guides are not safe from abduction."

 

Rafe leaned in closer to Blair, resting a hand on the curly haired head. Blair sighed, turned in his chair, wound both arms around the other man's neck. "I know, I know. Stay close. Don't get up to go to the bathroom unless I take you with me. Don't get a drink of water from the sink unless I take you with me. Don't turn over in bed unless one of you is with me. Yadda, yadda, I won't forget." His voice was subdued.

 

"No yadda, yadda about it, Chief." Ellison said. The ice in his voice melting completely away when he spoke to his Guide. Blair nodded, putting a hand out towards his older Sentinel. Jim rose to his feet and went to him. Once he had hold of it, Blair rested his cheek against Ellison's hand.

 

"I know, big guy. I don't want to be gone." He said.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

"There was no reason for her to be taken." Ziva paced. She wanted to get her hands on something, someone, and choke the shit out of them. She wanted to break things. Scream. She wanted Abby back, and the men who had taken her.

 

Tim spoke up. "Uhm...." Her eyes turned to him. "Actually," his voice was flat, exhausted. "She does fit the profile as far as the kidnappers would know. She hacked her records to show how easy it could be done. Took her twenty minutes tops to get in, three more to alter her records. I don't think she changed them back. For all they know, she fits perfectly."

 

"You let her do this?" Ziva was outraged. "McGee, didn't the two of you stop to think for one moment what it might mean?" She threw her hands up in the air. "My god, you both..."

 

"She was proving a point. It was..."

 

"It was a dare, wasn't it?" Now it was clear the little Sentinel was furious. "You got her into this, didn't you, Timothy McGee? You got her into this, and Tony..." She whirled on her heel, strode to the wall, and plunged her fist through the plaster.

 

She had to hold back her temper. One more word.... if she said what she was thinking her bond with Tim was over. Done. Gone. Even if he'd had a part in losing Abby, Ziva wasn't sure she wanted to lose him, too. He was young, and foolish, and he could be naive, an idiot at times, too trusting, but she liked him, and she loved Abby. She knew that Tim loved Abby as much as she herself. They were good together the three of them.

 

But now it was just the two of them. Abby was gone. At least partly because of a damn fool stunt her two mates had pulled. She should have know by now it was never smart to leave the two of them alone, unsupervised.

 

"Call, Gibbs, now." She tossed Tim's cell phone to him. She would call herself, but she had to get out of the room, out of the suite. Or she was going to explode. Choke McGee within and inch of his miserable, silly little, trusting life.

 

"Where are you going?" Tim asked, shock painted over his boyish face. Then when she didn't respond, he clambered to his feet. "Ziva! Wait! Gibbs said we are supposed to stay here with Tony. Ziva!"

 

"I can't stay here." She snarled, right before she slammed the door open, and ran down the hall, a lithe deadly missile, speeding away.

 

Tim gaped after her then retreated back into the room, locking the door, listening for the snick that meant the sturdy lock was engaged. He fumbled with the phone. He dialed.

 

"Gibbs."

 

"She's gone." Tim babbled. "She left. I tried to stop her, but she left. I couldn't stop her. When she gets like that, there isn't anything I can say to stop her, she never listens to me."

 

"McGee? Breathe, McGee. Slow down. Who is gone?" Something told Gibbs this wasn't about Abby. Or not entirely.

 

"She said I had to tell you about Abby and then she left. She threw the phone at me and I told her she had to stay. That we had to stay with Tony. But she left."

 

"Stay. There. Don't you leave that room. Lock the door. Don't leave Tony alone. I'm on my way. So help me McGee if you leave Tony alone...." He closed the phone with an audible snap.

 

"I'll go, boss." Stan was on his feet. "Makes more sense for you to be involved here..." Gibbs cut the other man off.

 

"You." He pointed at Stan's chest, then at the floor. "Stay here." Was all he said, before he left, his heart pounding with fury and pure fear.

 

Ziva had lost it for some reason. Well, a pretty obvious one. Abby. She had disobeyed a direct order to stay with Tony while the Guide was getting the rest the Doctor prescribed. Now DC had an ex-Mossad agent running it's streets, and Gibbs didn't know how out of control she was. Or how bad things were going to get.

 

He wasn't half way to the Hotel before he realised that he had made the wrong choice. He should have stayed at FBI headquarters. Stan should be the one on the way to guarding Tony. Gibbs ground his teeth. Fine. He was going to go, look in on his Guide, then call Stan to get his butt over there. After Gibbs made sure Tony was all right first.

 

He spun the wheel and roared through the conveniently empty parking lot, pulling up close to the entrance. He whipped out his cell phone, dialed.

 

"Burley." The voice was crisp, efficient. But Gibbs heard the tension underlying the word. No doubt Stan was worried to be hearing from his boss this quickly, perhaps thinking Tony was now among the missing.

 

"You were right." Gibbs said. "You are the one who should be here. I'll expect you in ten." He hung up, before Burley could respond, already at the elevators. He rode up to the sixth floor, arrived at suite 616, used his key card. Entered the room, to be greeted by the business end of McGee's gun. He closed the door.

 

"It's just me, McGee." He said unnecessarily, the younger agent was already lowering his weapon.

 

"I'm sorry about Ziva, boss. I'm sorry I didn't stop her."

 

Gibbs snorted. "I don't expect you to stop her. I would have trouble stopping her. You stayed with Tony. That is what I expected from you. And from her." He squeezed Tim's upper arm as he went past, heading for the room where his sedated Guide was snoring softly.

 

Tony lay sprawled bonelessly on his belly, clothed uncharacteristically in boxers and a blazing white T-shirt. Gibbs raised a brow. Tony habitually slept in the nude. Gibbs advanced on him. His nose twitched as he bent down. He sniffed again to be sure of what his nose was telling him.

 

"Uh, I can explain...you see the doctor gave him a shot. I tried to tell her Tony isn't a typical Guide. That he has Sentinel level tolerances for most medications. She didn't think it was possible. She said she cut back on the dosage...but he threw up. I had to wash him up. I didn't want to go through the dressers, figure out what was his, what was Burley's, or yours. So...I...put my stuff on him."

 

"He sleeps nude." Gibbs said, not sure why he was saying it, sitting on the side of the bed and running a hand over his Guide's head, sinking fingers into the thick, unruly hair. "The doctor left when?"

 

"An hour ago. After Ziva started to pace. I think it made the doctor nervous. She made her nervous. But she said Tony would be OK, that he'd just sleep longer than usual."

 

Gibbs continued threading his fingers through Tony's hair. "Call her if he doesn't wake soon." He could tell Tony was in no trouble. His breathing, deep and even, his skin warm, supple. His muscles were relaxed, his pulse regular and strong. "Better yet, call in a Sentinel Specialist and explain Tony's situation. I'd rather have a specialist seeing him."

 

"Sure, boss." McGee said. Then.... "Are you going to find Ziva?"

 

"Yes. I'm going to find her. I don't suppose she mentioned where she was going?"

 

Tim shook his head, he said miserably. "Sorry, boss."

 

Gibbs sighed. Great. "Don't worry McGee, I'll find her."

 

But Gibbs knew that wasn't going to be easy. Not until Ziva was ready to be found. "And I am going to find Abby. It doesn't make sense that they took her. Her numbers don't fit the pattern."

 

McGee looked suddenly horrified, and milk white. "Oh, God."

 

"Sit." Gibbs pointed at the floor. "Before you fall. What is wrong, McGee?"

 

Tim sat, his legs collapsing under him. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit."

 

"What?"

 

"She hacked into the Guide database. Just to see if she could. To show

how easy it could be done, that it wasn't impossible. But it was harder than she thought it would be. They must have some good people working there. Took a lot longer than she thought it would."

 

"McGee. Spit it out. You are babbling." Gibbs broke in. "Ten words or less."

 

"She changed her numbers."

 

Gibbs stared. "Why would she do something that goddamn fucking stupid?"

 

"To prove it could be done, and how. It is possible to hack the database. But it is hard, boss. Not many people could do it." McGee insisted, not noticing how Gibbs was counting to ten under his breath.

 

"Could you?" Gibbs ground out. "Can you get back in?"

 

"Yes. I remember what steps we took." McGee didn't even need to think. Gibbs crooked a finger at him. Tim scooted nearer. Gibbs looked down into his eyes, the younger Sentinel staring up at him, mesmerized.

 

"From here?" Gibbs asked. Tim's eyes never flickered.

 

"Yes. Abby's computer is next door." Gibbs lifted his head, hearing someone at the door of the suite. Unlike himself, Stan knocked. Stan wasn't taking any chance on being shot by McGee, or more likely by a pissed off Gibbs. McGee was a Sentinel guarding a Guide. Gibbs was just pissed. Not a good situation to burst in on.

 

"Go let Stan in, and get the computer."


	10. Chapter 10

Abby woke, and instantly wished she was back sleeping again. She let out a tiny sound of agony, which only amplified the pain, the echo of the moan reverberating inside of her skull, bouncing from bone, to bone, to bone, sharp as daggers. It was intolerable. Unbearable. Her vision swam and she felt icy prickles of sweat break out all over her skin.

 

It wasn't a good sign, that much pain, Abby knew that from more than just common sense. She had picked up medical knowledge here and there, some of it from Ducky, some of it from autopsies and cases over the years, but most from tagging along to ER with her teammates who had a distressing tendency to be injured. So, she was pretty well versed in her trauma.

 

She had a closed head injury. CHI. Which could range from minor, to not so minor, to deadly. With this much pain she knew she wasn't lucky enough to fit into the minor category. So...her entire focus of hope was...staying out of the deadly zone. Making it through without lingering side effects, debility, or death. Though, right now, death didn't sound all that bad. Another wave of pain and nausea hit her, so bad she almost couldn't make a sound, nearly couldn't breathe.

 

The side of her head hurt. OK, that was the temporal region. It throbbed, felt like it was going to explode at any moment, like a spike had been driven through it, not any little spike either, but a huge one. What did she know about that spot? Well, it was where the skull bone was the thinnest, where a lucky blow could kill with reasonable reliability. And her guess was, someone had hit her there. And fractured her skull. So she was damaged. It remained to see how badly.

 

It seemed her reasoning capacity wasn't too affected. Which was all good, but...the pain was incapacitating. There was no way she could get up. Move. Get out. Escape. Do more than lay here in absolute agony. In a very short time, feeling like this, she would wish she was dead. She let out the weak little moany sound again. Oh, big, big mistake. The pain crashed down over her.

 

Waves of nausea assaulted her. She opened her eyes, being careful not to move her head, if she did she was sure her brain would leak out of her ears. That thought in turn made her feel like she wanted to vomit. Oh, god no. Vomiting would be bad, very, very bad. Incredibly bad. She hated vomiting, even when she didn't have the mother of all headaches. Vomiting had never made a headache, any headache, feel better.

 

The lighting was low when she opened her eyes, tears immediately ran down her face in reaction to the light stabbing knives into her sockets and grinding into her optic nerves. She was in a clinic, she saw in the seconds before she snapped her eyes shut against the torture, it appeared to be a well equipped one, as she was hooked up to a faintly beeping, very modern heart and blood pressure monitor. Waves of different colored patterns made their way across the screen.

 

A face appeared over her almost at once, a shadow through her closed lids. She slitted her eyes open a fraction, happy the searing light was being blocked by the person bending over her. But the relief lasted for a bare second as her eyelid was lifted by the person's thumb and a flashlight shone in. It was too much for her to bear. She moaned, a long, agonized moan, animal-like, mindless. The flash disappeared, her lids were allowed to fall shut. She breathed through her clenched teeth, loud shushing sounds, hissing, just trying to live through the next minutes, until the pain faded to bearable.

 

"Shhh. Don't move. Getting you here was a bit tougher than expected. You bumped your head. You have a concussion, a tiny fracture in the temporal bone, you will be fine, I promise you. We want you to be well. Just rest. I'll give you more pain medication. Next time you wake, it will be better." The voice of indeterminate gender said. Abby wasn't able to answer, wasn't able to do anything but lay still. Not moving, barely breathing against the pounding in her temple.

 

Abby tried to think what Gibbs would want to know about the person leaning over her, what descriptors stood out. Daggers of pain stabbed into her as she tried to catalog away the information. She got as far as thin with dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, maybe fifty years old...before the nausea overwhelmed her and vomit burst out of her mouth, covering the pristine white sheet in front of her before running in a stream of green-yellow off the edge.

 

"Shit!" She heard distantly. Then...a panicked shout, "I need help in bay four!" Before Abby passed out and returned to the welcome dark.

 

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Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a very hard time leaving his Guide. Asleep, drugged and vulnerable. Every fiber of his being, every instinct demanded he stay at his side, care for him, protect him, defend him. Tony was in danger. He had been injured. Some unknown enemy wanted him, was a threat to him. And Gibbs had to leave him. He looked down, his eye traveling over the sleeping body. He had never loved anyone as much as he loved this man.

 

And he had to walk away. Had to go back to work to do his job. Leave Tony, unable to defend himself. It was wrong. His gut was twisted with the inevitability of the only possible decision. He had to go. He stood the best chance of finding Abby, and maybe Ziva.

 

Tony might be able to find them, but Tony was laying in a bed, covered with a blanket, and wasn't going to wake up for most of another day, according to the disgusted Sentinel Specialist who had finally been called in. Disgusted with the Sentinel unfriendly drug and dosage Tony had been given, upset he hadn't been the first called, fascinated by the unique mix of Sentinel/Guide Tony represented. The Specialist couldn't get enough of this Guide. Gibbs' Guide. Gibbs had almost found that amusing. He had yet to meet a Sentinel Specialist who didn't feel that way about Anthony Michael DiNozzo. They all fell for him on the spot. Not like other Sentinels, who's first reaction was often a conflicting mix of wanting to get as far away from Tony as possible...all the while wanting to fuck him within an inch of his life.

 

Even in the hands of Tim McGee and Stan Burley, Gibbs hated the idea that he wasn't standing over Tony with his own gun drawn, ready to blow the faces off anyone who got in the door. But...he had to give in to the inevitable. He had to go.

 

The Specialist was bedded down on the living area couch, refusing to leave. Wanting to spend every moment he was permitted near the Guide/Sentinel. Which wasn't a bad thing. The Sentinel Specialist was one more layer of protection.

 

McGee was sleeping on the rug, wrapped in a comforter and sheet from the other bed, laying across the doorway to Tony's room, because Gibbs was in no state to let another Sentinel besides Stan in Tony's bed right now. Burley was taking first watch, letting everyone else rest.

He would wake McGee in four hours, they'd switch off, and McGee would continue working on the Guide database while Stan crawled in bed with Tony.

 

McGee had hacked the site with ridiculous ease, Jethro leaning in over his shoulder. Gibbs made a note to bawl out whoever was responsible for Internet security at the Guide database. The site may as well have been a highway for all the traffic it was getting. And...so far McGee's invasion hadn't been noticed. Unforgivable. Heads were going to roll over this.

 

McGee was busy running a program that would trace all persons who had accessed the site within the last ten months, authorized and unauthorized personnel. McGee was sleeping while the program ran.

 

Stan was watching Tony sleep, their hands clasped, Tony having roused to warm, seductive incoherence with the ammonia ampule the Specialist broke under his nose. It had taken Gibbs and Burley both to keep the dazed Guide from first breaking the man's jaw, and second, drawing Gibbs into a long, hard demanding kiss that could only have ended with them in bed, loving, using up time Abby and Ziva couldn't afford.

 

Tony had latched onto Gibbs and refused to let go until he fell into his drugged sleep once again. Then Jethro had pried the long arms from around his body and turned Tony over to Stan's care. It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. His erection strained against his zipper, he panted, there was nothing he needed more, right now than to sink it, all of it, into that long, sweet, tanned body.

 

That was part of the problem. How could he think, coldly, clearly, if he just wanted to kill, maim and murder the men who had taken the other Guides, wanted it bad enough to taste, but not as badly as he wanted to stay with his own Guide. If he was so focused on revenge, how could he think rationally? It wouldn't get Abby back. It wouldn't find her, or the other missing Guides. It was a useless emotion right now. As was the need burning in him like acid to stay with Tony.

 

He needed to be cold and hard. Later he could give in to the rage. Later he could wrap himself up in his Guide and let his senses go wild. Later, he promised himself. Later he would be in Tony's arms, later he would taste him, scent him, touch him, look him over, taste every inch of his body with lips and ravenous tongue, listen to the blessed beat of his heart. The heart that meant more to Leroy Jethro Gibbs than any other in his life. Even his own.

 

But...he had a job to do.

 

He left the room without looking back, without going to Tony and touching him again.

 

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Jack sat hunched over his desk. Right here, in this building worked a man, probably more than one, several men then, who were behind the Guide kidnappings. Here in this bastion of law, were criminals responsible for the most unforgivable crimes a Sentinel could commit. Were the men Sentinels? Yes, Jack concluded, they had to be. But they were not men who had any honor left. They were madmen, and Jack planned on treating them as such.

 

It was more than enough for him to worry about. But...it wasn't the only business on his desk. He contemplated the stack of papers bound in blue. It looked like a book. Neatly printed, double spaced, the cover embossed with the name of the law firm. Gold scrolled letters. Jack ran a finger over the script.

 

It had to be the fastest lawsuit he'd ever seen drawn up in...he checked the numbers on the phonebook sized sheaf of papers...935 pages. How could anyone, even with an entire firm of lawyers working their fingers to the bone come up with this much garbage this fast? Not even overnight. It had been done in only hours. Not days.

 

When he thought about it, he came to the conclusion that it had been prepared at least partially in advance. And if so, that led him down a path strewn with very nasty implications, and one conclusion. Victor Fitzgerald had plans for his son. Plans he was not about to let anyone thwart. Most especially not a lowly Special Agent in Charge. Jack Malone was not a Sentinel who was going to be permitted to bond to Martin Fitzgerald. Whatever Director Fitzgerald had planned, It had been thought out, put together, every contingency considered. It was going to be hell to fight.

 

The writ had shown up by courier, Jack'd signed for it, curious, as the young lawyer wearing bike shorts stood by, Jack had initially taken him for a bike messenger. But no, that was what he wasn't. He was a legal shark. Maybe thirty, whipcord tough, his hair wild and uncombed, his helmet still fastened on his head as he watched Jack with a predator's gleaming, assessing eye. Jack despised his ilk. In another thirty years the young man would be right up there next to Fitzgerald, Senior. Oh, perhaps not in the FBI, but in a position that was virtually the same for all intents and purposes.

 

Jack tossed the pile aside, not waiting for the young man to leave. He saw he surprise, quickly hidden at his casual treatment of the impressive pile of crap, before having Joshua, his sidearm conspicuously displayed, escort the man out.

 

Jack knew what was in it. The most important part of which would be a Cease and Desist order. Telling him he had to keep his hands off Martin Fitzgerald. His hands and his dick. Yes, his dick was of primary importance, because men like Victor thought his touch, the touch of a peasant, his unpurified bodily fluids, would soil them, dilute their blue blood. Jack would soil Victor's precious son. Decrease Martin's bank-ability, his worth.

 

Even without looking beyond the tasteful, intimidating cover, Jack had no doubt that was in there. And he had no desire to read a single word. He reached for the phone.

 

He wanted to ignore the whole suit, to bury or burn the paperwork and dance around it in a loincloth while it burned, to show Victor just what kind of primitive he was. Not that he would...he just wanted to. In front of Victor. Uncivilized, uncouth, a barbarian. He wanted to shake his peasant's dick at Victor Fitzgerald, right before he made love to his son. Filled him with his cock, his care, his cum. Right before Jack taught Martin what being loved and valued as a Guide really was all about.

 

Jack wanted to forget this whole legal thing...but when it came to Fitzgerald and men like him, Jack knew better than that. He dialed the number of a good friend, one he hadn't spoken to in far too long. He couldn't fight alone.

 

"James, Jack Malone here...."

 

Twenty minutes later, pumped for information, his brain emptied of every possible nugget that could be used in the upcoming struggle, he hung up. James Jackson would take care of him. He'd done a favor for the man in the past, a favor that had been agonizing for a young FBI agent. Jack didn't regret the decision he'd made then, yet it haunted him. Still did. But, he'd gained the other man's friendship, and he valued that friendship. More than many friendships he'd made over the years in more acceptable circumstances.

 

James was sending someone from his office over to get the file. Jack put it out of his mind. Pitting James Jackson up against Victor Fitzgerald...he'd bet on Jackson every time. Victor didn't know the meaning of the words...down and dirty. He only thought he did. Jackson was a product of the streets. When it came to cold blooded, he knew the true score.

 

The last piece of advice a savvy James Jackson had given Jack...take Martin Fitzgerald to his bed. Finish the bond in the most physical way he could. Bind the boy to him. Let every Sentinel in the city smell Jack on Martin's skin. Underline who Martin belonged to. Intellectually all Sentinels knew that sex wasn't a required part of the bond. But it did tend to deepen the ties between Sentinel and Guide.

 

But therein lay the problem. Martin wasn't ready.

 

Every skill, every sense Jack had as an experienced Sentinel was telling him that. Martin needed time. Danny needed time. Jack was patient, but he was ready. He was the only one of the three of them who was. Pushing too soon could ruin any chance their partnership had. Could scar Martin again, beyond recovery, instead of healing him. Jack couldn't bring himself to think of that. Of causing Martin more harm. But if he didn't, then he might lose him, forever.

 

Lose him, right back into the clutches of the kind of people who were responsible for all the abuses the young Guide had endured up to this point. How could Jack live with himself if he let that happen to Martin? Martin who was trusting him. Relying on the inherent honor, the dedication of a Sentinel for his Guide?

 

The quick tap at Jack's door made him jump, his mind had been a million miles away. Viv was in the doorway, watching Jack with her dark, deductive eyes. Jack had given up on hiding things from her a long time ago. She pushed quietly into the office and shut the door behind her. She leaned on it for a moment, assessing his mood.

 

He noticed the paper she had in her hand. A much smaller stack than his, but bound in blue. More legal papers. The assumption that they were from Victor's legal team was inescapable.

 

"What is that?" He asked, just for form's sake. He knew, was sure.

 

"From Victor's lawyers." Her smile was wry, a mere quirk of her wide, generous mouth. She held it out to him. "Go on, read it."

 

He did. "He wants you to overturn your recommendation. To say I'm unfit."

 

Viv nodded. "Uh-huh."

 

"Are you going to? It would hold a lot of weight if you did." Jack asked, watching her, needing to know what her reaction was. They were only inches apart. Her eyes looked into his, her mouth making that purse-lipped sign of her disapproval. The one that usually preceded her scolding him. "It would save you a lot of trouble."

 

"Trouble? He can't cause trouble for me. I am a Senior Guide, Jack. I handle difficult, gun toting Sentinels for a living. Victor Fitzgerald is child's play." She reached out and put her hand on his arm. "I am right here. I am standing behind you and my decision, Jack. You are the best thing that has ever happened to that young man of yours. Martin needs you. Danny needs you. And I am not going to let anyone take either one away from you. If Fitzgerald wants to take me on, take on a ~Guide~...he can just try it."

 

Viv made a face, Jack thought it might have been a smile, but it was not a pretty one, it was filled with teeth, with a fierce joy, a huntress' hunger. Jack felt the hair along the back of his neck, all the way down his spine, raise up and take notice. He didn't reach for his gun, looking into her face, but he wanted to. He really wanted to.

 

Victor Fitzgerald, it seemed, had bitten off far more than he could chew. Jack could hardly wait until the man found that out for himself.


	11. Chapter 11

"He did what?" The older man's voice was both glacially frigid and hot enough to burn through steel. The young lawyer who had been standing at ease in front of him resisted the urge to take a step backwards, placing himself strategically closer to the door. Remaining motionless, his eyes narrowed and he watched Victor closely, far more closely than he had been, a new wariness in his gaze.

 

"He...Malone...tossed the order on his desk." The sentence was repeated, this time far more cautiously, without the smirk.

 

Victor Fitzgerald's eyes bored holes in the lawyer. As if Malone's behavior was his fault somehow. Now the man did sidle nearer the exit. Making it look like nothing more than a shift in his stance. But definitely sure to end up one step closer to the hall. He refused to tap nervous fingers against the bike helmet he had in his hand.

 

"He threw it on the desk." Ice dripped from the tone as the director straightened and smoothed his flawless silk tie, stretching his chin upwards as he did. The movement didn't help to ease his anger, or his frustration. Jack Malone had never had the healthy fear of his superiors that Victor liked to see in his subordinates.

 

Victor Fitzgerald put a hand on his desk, gently, fingers splayed like a hairy pink spider. The tremor was almost invisible. Almost. The lawyer took advantage of the director's shifting attention to gain another few inches towards the door.

 

Fitzgerald Senior lowered himself into the two thousand dollar leather upholstered chair that sat behind his broad, teak-wood desk. His actions were measured, in control.

 

The lack of respect Malone was willing to show for him, a director of the FBI, was unforgivable. In front of an outsider, Fitzgerald pursed his lips, for however brilliant this young ass of a lawyer was, he was an outsider, well, such disrespect was not to be tolerated.

 

Victor looked up. "You are free to go." He said, evenly. Free to get the hell out of his office before Victor indulged in his hatred of Special Agent Jack Malone. He was about to do something he knew was foolish. But...he couldn't stop the momentum of his rage. He watched as the lawyer slapped his bike helmet onto his disheveled curls and backed out of the office, making remarkably quick work of getting out. He may as well have been running. Throughout the man's escape, one now very jaundiced eye remained fixed on Victor. All the way until the last moment when the door snicked shut.

 

Victor waited until the latch clicked, a soft and final sound, pounding like falling stones against his Sentinel sensitive ear drums, only just louder than his own pounding pulse. Then very slowly he reached for the phone on his desk. He dialed from memory. Eleven numbers. He waited through the muted buzzing sound of the overseas ring. There was a sound of the receiver being lifted, then vaguely obscene breathing. No greeting. There never was one, so that didn't stop Victor.

 

He whispered into the receiver. A name, a place, an offer of remuneration. Then he hung up. He'd be contacted if the offer was interesting enough for the job he'd asked to have done. There was nothing to do now but wait and see. He leaned back, forcing himself to take in a slow breath. Long, deep, fortifying. He still had the upper hand he assured himself. He was the man in control. All the rest would fall into place in time.

 

He hated using the number as much as he liked the feeling of power it gave him. He hated not knowing who was doing the work, he hated knowing the other had more information on him than he had on them. Actually he had no idea if it were one man or a whole network. He had simply managed after shaking the right hands and greasing the right palms to acquire the phone number. He'd used it twice. Been cautioned not to use it to excess when he'd first acquired it twelve years back. If he was termed a risk, or thought to be excessive indulging his hatreds...well it could well be him who was taken out. But this was only the third time he'd used it.

 

He half regretted making the call only seconds after he cradled the phone. This was not a time to risk publicity. Yet he had no way to undo it. If he called and cancelled he'd most likely be eliminated. These kinds of men wouldn't tolerate being at the beck and call of someone who was weak. Or indecisive. They were not pawns in any man's game. They were tools. Well paid and highly skilled. Not to be trifled with. If he wasn't strong he'd surely lose access to this important perk. Perhaps terminally.

 

While calling in for the contract might have not been the wisest course of action, it wasn't up for debate that Malone had to be stopped before Martin was tainted. A tainted Martin would be useless to his father. Sentinel spies had assured Victor that Martin had not yet been marked. There was no scent of semen on him. That was as close to a guarantee of purity Victor was likely to get.

 

He had no time to waste. Any day might see Martin in Malone's bed. Bad enough that he'd be in Malone's bed, but there was also that barrio kid Taylor to contend with. Changing his name didn't change what he was. A low life. A gangster. An addict, former or not. A failure as a Sentinel. No match for the son of Victor Fitzgerald. The thought of those two men having access to his son's body made Victor ill. And Martin being a Guide would act the slut, spread his legs and let the unthinkable happen. Guides had to be protected from themselves. They allowed emotion run amok to control them. Not rational decisions.

 

Martin was supposed to have mated with the girl from his squad who had the right genes, Samantha Spade. She was beautiful, sleek and blonde. What else should Martin want, any red-blooded man would want that girl, Victor thought in disgust. Just not his perverted son. His son would rather lay down for a man who was nobody.

 

Samantha Spade had done services for Victor and the other members of the Utopia Project. She had made it possible for Guides to disappear around DC and not be found by her team. It hadn't been all that difficult to make sure the case was assigned to Malone where Sam could assure failure. Malone's team was supposed to be the best. But Sam saw to their failure this time. She had done good work. She deserved a reward.

 

Martin had been the reward. Victor had handed his son over with full support of the match, the entire founding membership had agreed to the bonding, they all had hoped for children. But Martin...hadn't come up to scratch in that department either. And Malone had interfered before the new drugs could be tried on Martin.

 

The boy had managed to fuck it up. Like he had so much of his life. He'd succeeded in getting his Sentinel in trouble. More than that...he'd gotten her arrested. When Martin was back in his clutches Victor was going to make certain he'd be no more trouble. Martin had always been permitted too much independence. And look where it had gotten him. A mama's boy. A pansy, too. It was disgusting.

 

There were new medications for Guide control. It was part of the Utopia Project's advances. Such measures were frowned on by the government currently in charge. But the members of Utopia knew better. Victor had access to them all. He was ~the~ founding member, with all the power that entailed. Martin would be no trouble at all. He would fuck, sleep, breed and do what he was told to, when he was told. Of course neither would he be in the FBI. He would be keeping house for his Sentinel. Like any good Guide should. Waiting on her pleasure. Existing to serve her needs.

 

That vision went a ways towards calming Victor Fitzgerald. It gave him a burst of satisfaction. Martin playing the role that was intended. If he had the poor taste to be born a Guide he could at least behave properly. Victor allowed himself a smile. Martin would behave. All it would take was getting him to the clinic.

 

But first he'd have to get him away from Malone.

 

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Jack was bending down. He had both hands on the desk, his head hanging. Martin and Danny exchanged a look behind his back, alarm on both faces. Martin's hand folded into a fist, shaking, impotent, he stayed where he was, as if his feet were glued to the floor.

 

It was Danny who stepped forward across the thick Indian motif carpeting of the den and asked, "Jack," then, "Sir, what is wrong?" With more than a touch of trepidation tinging the words. Trepidation and formality. He didn't come as close to the other man as he wanted. 

 

There was still the reserve between the three of them. Jack was senior, the one in charge of both Danny and Martin, and Agents Fitzgerald and Taylor, at work and away from it they took their lead from him. They gave him the same respect here in the house they were sharing as they did at work. It was the way things were. Their bonding was too new to have negotiated boundaries beyond what they already were familiar with at work.

 

Jack sighed, shaking his head. How was he supposed to talk about this...this...shit with Martin and Danny? How was he supposed to point out to Martin that his father thought the two men, the Sentinels, who he had bonded with, a bond sanctioned by the FBI, were less than dirt? Victor Fitzgerald far from being happy for his son's more comfortable life, and he was doing his best to disrupt it. He wasn't going to let Martin be at peace, or happy.

 

And it fell to Jack to tell the young man how much his father hated Jack Malone. Jack would never be welcomed in the Fitzgerald family home. By remaining with Jack Martin would be cutting himself off from his family. And apparently Danny shared the same position in Victor's regard. Danny, who had never done anything to the older man, had been nothing but a good agent since coming to work at the FBI. Jack, if he had a son or daughter who brought Danny home would be proud to have him part of the family.

 

Such was not the case in their current situation.

 

Martin...Jack looked up, seeing Martin frozen at the room's edge. There was fear hidden in the depths of those beautiful Guide's eyes. Compassion, love, was it possible? Love and fear. Martin already knew. No, not knew, suspected. Jack wondered if Victor had done this sort of thing before. He wanted to know that he hadn't put Martin through this. That he had been a father enough to his son that he couldn't, didn't know what he was doing to Martin. But Jack knew better than to really let himself believe the best of a man like Victor Fitzgerald. That kind of thinking was just too naive.

 

"Martin?" Danny voice was taut. Jack's gaze lifted to him. Danny was afraid, too. Terrified. Why? Jack could speculate, but he didn't know for sure what was going on behind those dark, anxiety filled eyes. Danny was looking at Martin, then he was looking at Jack again.

 

It decided him. The lost, frightened look in the two sets of eyes. When had he last seen fear in the faces of these two brave men? Not in along, long time. They were good, men, reliable, strong, honest. They were more than just his partners, members of his team, they were his new family. His bonded. He had to tell them all of it. They had a right to know all the details, and a right to decide, with Jack, what they were all going to do. Jack wasn't going to make all the decisions for his new mates. He was not going to throw the weight of his senior status around. Jack and Danny were as much a part of what choice he made as he was. They would have to live with it, too.

 

Jack passed a hand over his own face, scrubbing at the faint bristle of evening whiskers. He'd have to shave if...he shook the thought off. There he was making assumptions that Danny or Martin would want to sleep with him. Would elect to make that choice. When it was far more likely that Danny would agree, he was young, horny and a Sentinel, than Martin. But it was Martin who needed to be bedded. Intellectually Jack knew it. But he couldn't force himself on the other man. The Guide. Martin had to be able to trust Jack or it would all be for nothing. Jack, if he damaged Martin, would never be able to look at his own reflection again. Meet his own eyes.

 

No, a bedding, if it occurred at all, would happen when Martin was ready, not a single minute sooner. Jack would figure something else out. There had to be another answer that didn't involve Victor finding a way to keep them all apart.

 

All the silent ruminating was wreaking havoc on the den's other two occupants. Danny was trembling, Martin making a harsh sound, his lungs tightening, the whistle of air forcing itself in and out of his lungs loud to a Sentinel, though, probably Martin couldn't feel what was happening to him, not yet. Danny turned suddenly his head cocked to one side, catching the change in Martin's breathing. His eyes widened, and he looked back at Jack urgently.

 

"Come here." Jack said, including both of them in the request. He held out his arms. Contrary to his assumption it was Martin who made it across the floor before Danny, springing into motion and running across the space. Even though Danny had less distance to travel, Martin got to Jack first. Martin went into Jack's arms as if he belonged there, as if he'd found his haven, his place of warmth and safety.

 

"Don't leave me. Please." It was Martin's whispered plea, breathed so raw against Jack's neck. Then Martin turned his face into Danny's throat, and Jack heard the words again. Begging. Their Guide, his and Danny's, begging. For what was his already. For the loyalty of his Sentinels.

 

Jack was stunned. Danny held onto them, enfolding himself in Jack's arms, and as Martin shifted, he was also held tightly by the Guide, Martin's hands fisting one in the back of each of their crumpled shirts, gripping of each of his Sentinels fiercely. They stood, two Sentinels and one Guide, arms fastened tight around each other in a tangle that was impossible to sort into individual bodies. They were one unit. Tight.

 

Jack let his head fall onto Danny's shoulder. Solid and sturdy. A rock of strength, of youth. Full of potential, the swell of muscle inviting at the same time it was desperate with tension and uncertainty. Not the dirty, contaminated thing Victor saw when he looked at him. Danny was good. Danny was worthy of anyone. Even Martin. Especially Martin.

 

Jack tilted his head, and he was so close to Martin that even with his head still on Danny's shoulder his mouth brushed Martin's chin. He kissed the skin there. Rough with whiskers, warm and pliant, far softer and finer than his own beard. The firmness of the bone under all that flesh. The heat, the pulse of the blood singing through Martin's body. His skin so perfect under Jack's mouth, Jack's lips tasted of Martin's sweet sweat, healthy Guide scent. Delicious. Ambrosia to any Sentinel in his or her right mind.

 

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. It was good, so good. This was the bond that was going to last the rest of his life if he played his cards right. He had to tread carefully, so carefully. If he ruined it...then he deserved the worst that life could offer him. This was too precious to risk. He had to do this right. He never should have taken the risk of coming back to the house. But, he had. He needed privacy, they needed it. And privacy was damn hard to come by in a building full of Sentinels and too little in the way of shielding.

 

Jack raised his hands and buried his fingers in their hair. Martin's soft and faintly wavy, Danny's straighter, each hair thicker, smoother. Jack cupped his palms to their skulls, held them, pressed their faces together against his own. Their lips brushed, not a kiss, just touching, accepting. Reluctantly Jack let them go.

 

"Danny, get us something to eat, some tea, nothing caffeinated. Something calming. Martin, help him. We have a lot to talk about tonight." At last, wanting nothing more than to stay in contact with the two younger men, Jack pulled back to speak. They did as he asked, hesitantly, glancing back over their shoulders, but trusting him. Jack went around checking the locks on the windows and doors.

 

Having anyone break in on them wasn't in the plans for the night.

 

Jack debated with himself over the location he wanted to have the upcoming conversation. If he chose the bedroom would that unfairly force Martin into a choice the Guide didn't want to make? On the other hand, if he kept them out here, would Martin and maybe Danny take it to mean that Jack wasn't interested in more intimacy? Shit.

 

He moved into the bedroom. Looking at the seating area. They had moved a third chair into the little nook since Danny and Martin had moved in. But it had not been used even once by all three of them. Now would be the first time. Jack moved the chairs closer. He wanted this to be intimate. Close. Close enough that their feet would be tangled together. He would do everything in his power to not force a decision, but he would also be honest with Martin and Danny. He wouldn't lie outright, or by implication. Jack Malone was ready to claim his fellow Sentinel and their Guide. He might be the only one interested and prepared at this point, but he wasn't going to pretend not to be. That was as much lying as denying his desires out loud.

 

The decision having been arrived at, Jack felt a sense of peace. Yes. It would work out if they all wanted to work it out. If they started with the truth and stuck with it. Making their bond open and honest from the start.

 

Jack knew he'd made he right choice when Martin stepped into the room and his knotted shoulders suddenly relaxed, the tension draining away like water. Jack watched his facial muscles ease, the fine lines of worry around his Guide's eyes disappeared, smoothed away. Martin was almost smiling in a shy way, eyes luminous as they met Jack's.

 

Danny came into the room behind him with a second tray. He picked up on the vibe as quickly as Martin had, and was even less able to conceal his relief and approval. He grinned at Jack, his brown eyes wandering to Martin's straight back just in front of him, and downward, admiringly. Jack wanted to laugh all of a sudden. Danny, typical of a young, highly sexed Sentinel, was undeniably a horn dog. This might be the first time Jack had caught him at it, but it was certainly not the first time Danny had looked at Martin with that expression of hunger and longing.

 

If they had been in public, or simply in the company of others that look would have made Jack uncomfortable. But here, in private, in a room they all shared, it wasn't wrong. It was exactly what they needed.

 

Martin caught the expression on Jack's face just then, and Jack made no effort to conceal it. Martin swung his head around as he set the tray down. "What?" He asked, puzzled, then he saw the way Danny was looking at him. And he blushed.

 

Jack gasped. It was the most beautiful, sexy sight he had seen in a long time. The heightened color, a deep rose, flushing Martin's handsome face, the contrast of his dark lashes against his skin, the parted lips, wetness peeking out between them, his tongue making a nervous swipe over his lower one. Jack was helpless, his blood flowed in an unstoppable surge right into his cock. He was harder, faster than he had been in years.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack held up his hand. Pointed at the overstuffed chairs.

 

"Sit." He waited while Danny and Martin did. "I've got some bad news."

 

The playful relaxation that had dominated the atmosphere abruptly altered, became decidedly brittle as they silently took their seats. Martin licked dry lips. Danny sat stiffly, his feet solidly planted, his hands knotted on his thighs, his gun, pushed forward in it's holster, the Sentinel leaning forward with all the muted aggression Jack expected of him.

 

Jack poured herbal tea, the soothing, warm scent of chamomile filling the room.

 

The delicate china cups were hot, radiating their heat into the flesh of his hands, Jack felt the temperature as a distraction, a comfort culled from his memory, his Grandmother's house, a bastion of safety as she sipped her tea, a very young Jack playing at her feet. Shaking his head he handed the others their cups, Martin raising it to his mouth, tasting, Danny staring at the brimming liquid as if a snake had landed on his knee. Martin of course would have been exposed to this ritual, afternoon tea. Danny, not so much. Jack sipped.

 

Martin tried to drink, wincing as his trembling hand slopped the hot liquid onto his mouth, dribbling down his chin, a brief instant of scalding pain. Danny made sound, pushed his cup and saucer aside, made as if to rise.

 

Jack was there first, his Sentinel sight cataloging the series of events as they happened. The tea splashing, the skin being hit, blood vessels dilating, nerves sending out shock waves of pain out of proportion to the small area involved. Martin's fingers were at his burned mouth, touching the redness. Jack leaned in, wet his fingers, wiping them across the burn, blowing on the area to cool it further. Martin, eyes big, letting him. A moment later Jack stopped, removing the cup from Martin's grasp.

 

Jack had set his own cup down on the carpet, took Martin's and blew on it, just like he had Martin's mouth. Then he lowered it when he realized what he'd done, was doing. He'd treated Martin, a grown man, exactly like he treated one of his own young daughters. Taking the task from his hands and making him into a virtual child. Jack flushed, ashamed at his assumption, at his act of domination.

 

"I'm sorry." He said inadequately. Danny's eyes had dropped to his lap, mouth hard, unhappy, picking up on exactly what Jack was doing, what it meant. Only Danny's grip on the arms of the chair kept him in it. Martin's gaze though was fixed on Jack's face, questioningly. His eyes held no censure, only a certain, faint but unmistakable pleasure.

 

Jack handed the cup back. "I'm sorry. It's habit. My daughters...." he let the thought trail off. "And that wasn't what I meant for us to talk about."

 

"What is it you ~do~ mean for us to talk about?" Danny asked through his teeth, bordering on insubordinate. Jack looked over, saw the rigid jaw. Danny expected bad news. Was starting out mad, so he'd have a shield up when the news hit. So he'd be ready to yell, defend himself and Martin, from the news.

 

Jack found he didn't disapprove. But, it wasn't what a seasoned FBI agent should habitually do. Danny should be ready, prepared yes, but he shouldn't make any assumptions.

 

"I had a call from Victor Fitzgerald the other day." Jack began, not knowing yet, how to broach the whole subject, was there a good way to reveal this kind of news? So he went straight at it. No dressing, no prep. Just the bald facts. An attack on unpleasant news.

 

Martin's face went blank. Not before Jack caught the flash of pain. More than enough reason for Jack to despise Victor if he hadn't already. That flash meant it wasn't new, Martin had gone through this, or something very like it before. Because of his father's meddling.

 

"Bastard." Danny hissed. Drawing a startled look and then a burst of laughter from Martin. The laugh was weak at first, but a grew into a true one. And the handsome face lit up. Jack felt his heart squeeze.

 

"I don't disagree. He is a bastard." Martin said to Danny in a tone of delight. He was smiling, wide and open, yet still sad. Jack stared at the Guide. Struck by the lean beauty of him all over again. The blue green hazel eyes. The dark lashes. Squared jaw. The flawless skin. He was beautiful. Jack ached with wanting him. Wanting to reach out and cup his face in both hands. To cradle it tenderly. To taste him, experience Martin with touch and taste, not just hearing, sight and

scent.

 

Across the few feet separating them, Jack saw Danny's nostrils flare as the other Sentinel picked up on the growing scent of arousal.

 

"Jack." It was snapped, fast, sharp, challenging. Danny was on the edge of his chair. Jack looked over at the younger Sentinel, seeing fingers dug into the arms of the chair, almost to the point of tearing. Discovered he was looking up at Danny from the floor, on his knees, kneeling in front of Martin, and that his hands were in actuality, cupped around Martin's face, his thumbs, thick and awkward against the delicacy, the fineness of Martin's features, the sweet cut of his mouth.

 

"Jack." Danny said again. Low and dangerous. Jack tore his attention away from where his thumbs pressed over Martin's lips, one spot still faintly warmer than the others. It was hard to do. He wanted to fall into the feel of it, not away. He wanted to lick over the spot, to cool it with his breath.

 

Jack had lost it, lost time, lost control of his actions, lost sight of what he wanted to say. Instead he'd done what he desired to do. He had moved on his Guide. Without leave. Appalled at himself he began to pull back, only to feel Martin's long fingered hands come up and hold his own in place against his face, molding around the backs of Jack's hands, warm, firm, welcoming.

 

"I trust you." Martin said. Looking down the few inches into Jack's eyes. Jack saw, brilliant eyes, striated with splashes of blue, golden-brown, green, glowing with life, vitality, pleasure. So many more layers, Jack thought, than his own dark brown eyes. The eyes he saw in his mirror every day.

 

"Danny, Martin." Jack put his hand in the center of Danny's chest as Danny came out of his chair at last, moving nearer, coming in under Jack's arm, into his space, asking for permission from his senior to approach Martin. He quivered with the need to do so, to get to Martin, to the Guide. The reason why was evident in a hard, long, line jutting out at the crotch of his pants. He had been good, up until the moment Jack had touched Martin.

 

Danny had behaved well given the circumstances, for longer than Jack had thought the young Sentinel could. He would longer if asked to. But the promise of more, a promise that had not been there before tonight, that was the last straw. Danny needed. Danny wanted. Danny was asking for permission. Jack's arm held him still, his hand rose up to hold his chin to look into his dark, dilated pupils. Jack spoke, making sure Danny heard him.

 

"Listen. I have to tell you this, you have a right to know, both of you. Victor Fitzgerald is trying to have our bond stopped legally. He is saying that Martin is not free to bond. That his binding to Sam was a recognized bond and not yet dissolved. He is willing to fight to keep us apart. There are more reasons than that, but it all comes down to one, he argues that I don't have Martin's best interests at heart. If the legal action doesn't work...I don't trust him not to try other measures. Do you understand?" The last was said more to Danny with his sweating, wide eyed attempt at listening, than to the calmer Martin. Who had heard and obviously absorbed every word. Danny was having a much harder time comprehending. Danny let out a sub vocal sound, if Jack had to give it a name he'd have called it a whimper. Danny's hands were cupping himself, holding himself through his pants.

 

"Fuck, Jack." It was startling to hear those words come out of Martin's blue blood mouth. Startling enough that even Danny blinked, momentarily distracted. "That is so full of shit. You do care. I know you do. There is no way I doubt it. And my father isn't going to make me believe different. That is a promise to you. To you and to Danny. I know how my family feels about...well people who aren't in the right circles, of the right blood and social class. But I'll be damned if they are going to mess this up for me." From the stubborn set of his jaw, Jack believed him, utterly and completely.

 

Jack nodded, but Martin wasn't done. Danny was looking at Martin, his eyes clearer than they had been, intrigued, filling with unmistakable respect, and even...was it affection? Pride? Jack was sure it was all of those things. It was what he hoped to see. Danny seeing Martin as more than a Guide. Seeing him as a person first.

 

"I think I am happy Jack. Even in the middle of all of this chaos, the Guides going missing, Sam, losing Abby, Tony being hurt. I am happy being with you, and Danny. For the first time in my life. It feels right to be with you. To be with a Sentinel. It never has felt that way before."

 

"I am glad you feel that way. I want this as much as you do. I want this to last." Jack said cautiously, but with all the conviction he could put into the words. "You and Danny, you are my chance, my last chance to do it all right. I can't tell you what it means to me to have you both here."

 

Danny let out a moan, inching the last short distance, his gaze glowing, sharp, intent on his Guide, one hand was outstretched. He moved slowly, but with inevitable purpose. This time Jack didn't try to stop him. As long as Danny was in control, as long as he gave Martin time to say yes, or to say no, Jack wasn't interested in stopping them.

 

Danny didn't stop, and Martin didn't fend him off, wasn't panicking. The younger Sentinel kept moving forward, until his face pressed against Martin's chest, his nose buried in the juncture of arm and body. Jack felt a rush of pure satisfaction to see it, to see Martin not shrinking away, to see his arms come up, holding on to the other man.

 

Martin's response was tentative, not fully sure. His hands came down to rest on Danny's back, uncertain, but not reluctant. His eyes rose up to meet Jack's just a little widened. Martin felt the shift of powerful muscles under his palms. Different, very much, from the feel of all the Sentinels he'd touched before this intimately. Which was no real surprise, every one of them had up until this moment been female. His heart started to pound at the realization. This was a Sentinel who was also a man. A strong man, many times stronger than Martin himself.

 

Jack saw the incipient panic being born. He reached out, lay himself along Danny's back, held him, lending the other Sentinel some of his control. "Nothing you don't want." Jack said to Martin. "You are always safe with us. Always. Never doubt."

 

Martin didn't have to wonder what his father would think now, seeing his son like this. With a Sentinel not of his family's choosing was bad enough, but with a male Sentinel, worse. Victor Fitzgerald would be livid.

 

The emotion was fierce when it came. The satisfaction of knowing he was about to defy his father. Go against all the false, prejudiced teachings that had been drummed into him. He had found what he wanted, with two Sentinels, both of whom were male. Martin smiled, bitterly, but triumphant. He had almost failed. He had almost lost the chance. But here at last , his opportunity, he would win in the end. Despite everything that stood in his way. He had a new chance, a second, third, whatever chance. He had it. He was not going to let it slip away.

 

Victor Hughes Walden Fitzgerald, undisputed head of Martin's wealthy family, had always made sure his son understood that Martin belonged to the family, was a family asset. Was expected to behave accordingly. And that only the lower class Sentinels would dream of sharing a Guide. A Sentinel from the circles they moved in had a right to one Guide, one who belonged fully to the Sentinel and to no one else. Sentinels of their social strata didn't make allowances, they didn't have to. The world made exceptions for them.

 

Further, the purpose of the Guide extended to providing offspring. Without exception. If a Sentinel wished to indulge himself or herself in other, same sex relationships, it was done with those who were not Guides, discretely and never mentioned. Certainly not openly. A Guide had no such freedom to find that kind of outlet, to waste their fragile and unpredictable fertility on such hedonistic indulgences. Martin had that drummed into him from earliest childhood. From the moment he was able to understand that there were two sexes. Martin had a duty.

 

One duty that rose above all others. To serve and benefit the family.

 

He was taught to be wary of Sentinel males. To know they looked on him as an outlet for their lust, conception being impossible, Martin couldn't give a male a child, couldn't carry one. It was wrong of him to look at a man. And Martin would not be permitted to experiment that way. Yet...all these years later, here he was. About to do what his father had forbidden, had used as a threat all his life. If Martin didn't behave and obey, he would end up with his body used by men for their gratification. If Martin didn't obey.....then his family could not protect him. Until now, he had obeyed. Always.

 

"What? What is it?" Jack was there, close, the instant Martin's face had begun to show fear.

 

"I...I....haven't." Martin swallowed. It wasn't much of a stretch for Jack to understand the cryptic communication.

 

"No men?" Many Guides were kept to strictly arranged male/female pairings by hopeful families. Not that it did any good. A Guide would wander as he or she saw fit when it came to conceiving children. Martin's family...they were rich. Of course they would be more focused on inheritance, continuing the blood line, rather than simple

compatibility.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Ziva moved, her head down, eyes moving from side to side, smell piggy-backed onto sight, her mouth slightly open, drawing on the distinctive whiff of taste that lingered from her prey.

 

She was tracking the ever fading microscopic trail of oil that had fallen from the van. She was sure it came from the second van that Abby had been moved to when her abductors switched vehicles. It had taken most of the day for Ziva to be sure. It had taken going to the edge of a zone and staying there no matter what the risk, staying there, on the precipice and following the trail.

 

About two hours ago she thought she had picked up a stalker. Now she was sure of it. He was far enough back of her, his scent teasing her in her half zone, she'd have to come out of it to identify who it was, if he was known to her. He didn't get closer, nor drop back. As long as he stayed there it was OK. If he moved nearer, she would have to fight her way out of the near zone and confront him, kill him if he turned out to be dangerous to her or to her mission to find Abby. If the man tried to stop her, that was another matter altogether. But, right now, he was staying back.

 

So, ignoring him for the most part, Ziva moved on.

 

Abby was her goal. No price being to high to pay in order to find her Guide. A sixth sense told the female Sentinel she was getting near. Abby was near.

 

A mile back Gibbs stopped, waited, not wanting to close the distance between them. Finding Ziva hadn't been easy, staying with her, that was a different ball of wax. Whatever experience Ziva had, Gibbs had years more of it. He knew Ziva, had figured out what she was doing. Retreating into the dangerous zone bordering on loss of control, she was risking everything. But, it seemed to be working, so danger or not, Gibbs was just observing. He was close enough that given a few minutes he could close the distance and help her, if she needed it. Until then he was watching her track her prey.

 

She wasn't Ziva now, as she worked. She had fallen back to her primal mode. Barely more than senses with legs. No social niceties, no morals, all basic instincts. A Sentinel on the trail of her Guide. Nothing short of finding Abby, or Abby's abductors would bring her out of it. Unless it was to kill any obstacle that cropped up in the way of her accomplishing that goal.

 

Gibbs didn't plan on being an obstacle. Whoever had taken Abby and the other Guides didn't deserve to be met on civilized grounds. They deserved Ziva. This Ziva. He followed, but way back out of sight, on the periphery of her awareness, not a threat.

 

Primal Ziva was a ghost ahead of him. Moving through traffic, through people, through the hustle and bustle without turning a single head. Unseen, unremarked. A cloud drifting overhead, a tendril of a breeze, a thought passing by. Nothing more, nothing less. 

 

She pursued.

 

Gibbs followed.

 

They were getting there.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony DiNozzo opened his eyes, blinked them slowly, luxuriously, his long, dark brown lashes fuzzy around the edges of his vision, he closed his eyes again, and just soaked up the feel of laying in bed. He was flat on his back, feeling pleasantly warm, softness underneath him, with a long, lightly snoring body pressed up against him. He reached out, letting his arm fall across the other. His hand ran up the softness of a leg, and to a nicely rounded butt. He filled his palm with the cheek, squeezed. Hmmmm, nice.

 

Someone was showering in the en-suite bathroom. Humming while he did so. But Tony wasn't too bothered by that, he had a nice hunk of Sentinel to play with right here. Then when the other one got himself out of the shower, he could start all over again. Once he was all warmed up and ready. A smile stole over his face.

 

Tony turned with lazy sensuality into to the very male body, working one knee bwteen the other man's thighs. He was still mostly asleep, in that grey zone when he liked to be awakened with tender kisses and gentle but directed groping. When he liked to concentrate on skin, touch, scent, taste and hearing. Damn sight, it took too much energy.

 

The man next to him was wearing a T-shirt and underwear? Tony snorted delicately. Had to be Stan. Gibbs knew better. Gibbs knew enough to sleep in the raw. Tony liked attention when he woke. Loving attention. Well Tony knew how to break a man of that kind of habit. He grabbed onto the hem of the shirt, and with one motion, ripped it up the center. Being hard on a man's shirts had a way of training him not to wear them.

 

"Wha....?" Mumbled. Tongue sounding thick and unprepared for speech. Tony liked that, a sexy, rough voice, inarticulate. Perfect material to play with. Speech was so overrated before morning sex. Sound was much better, like moaning, grunting, begging. He slid his hand into the briefs, throwing a leg over the moving body to hold it down, he found a hot and hard erection, lowered his mouth over the open one of the man he was now straddling, finding the parted lips waiting for his own even with his eyes closed. He pressed his own cock into the belly under him.

 

The kiss was bliss, his tongue gliding into welcome heat, for about two seconds. Then Tony sprang back off of the bed and half way across the room. Tim McGee, looking rumpled and stunned lay on his back, mouth wet, hard cock sticking out from his groin, shirt ripped all the way up to his throat held in place only by the still intact sleeves.

 

Tony furiously wiped at his mouth. His own morning erection was a thing of the past, gone in less than sixty seconds, limp as a noodle. The thought was an unhappy one. Without morning sex a morning was just ruined, maybe the whole day. "McGee!" He hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"

 

Stan, dripping water, appeared in the doorway a towel gripped in one hand but not on, the water still pounding a varied rhythm in the shower. Stan must have been playing with the shower head massager. Sentinels always liked those.

 

And...that had nothing to do with the big question that needed answering right now. What the hell was McGee doing in his bed?

 

Tony's head whipped around in another direction away from the gaping McGee and the naked Stan, focusing just as a short, curious man popped up in the doorway from the living room of the suite, his shoulders wider than Tony's by several inches. Pretty built for a short man, his flannel Henley tight in a way that showed off each muscle group. A looser shirt and the man would look fat. Wearing glasses. Balding, mostly, the little bit of hair left on his head standing up wildly. Bed-head without a doubt. But sort of hot, in a distant, cataloging way, Tony thought. Not his own type.

 

Just as McGee wasn't. Which begged the question, again, what was he doing in Tony's bed, which had lead Tony to sticking his tongue in his mouth, and frenching him, purely unintentionally. And when was Gibbs going to kill McGee for moving in on his Guide? Worse, Ziva was going to kill Tony. Or maybe not, Tim was a Sentinel, not a Guide. Maybe Ziva would be a little less possessive?

 

Stan was there, his arms stealing around Tony, making Tony startle until he realized who it was. Reluctantly Tony let himself relax by the smallest fraction. Could he and Stan together keep Gibbs from strangling Tim? Or Ziva from throwing him out of the window? Throwing Tony out, not Tim, though Ziva did tend to have extreme reactions to the faithfulness of her Sentinel and her Guide. Jealous. She was the poster girl for that real healthy emotion.

 

"Uh, uh." Tony turned into Stan's embrace, ignoring the message of his own denial, something was going on here. He wanted to know what it was.

 

"Where is Gibbs?" Tony demanded, crossly, his hand wandering down to ghost over the rounded mounds of Stan's spectacular ass, the one he'd thought he'd been groping a few minutes ago. His now fully awake ears and nose told him Jethro wasn't anywhere in the confines of the suite.

 

"He's out...." Stan began to tell him. Tony didn't let him finish.

 

Tony's head lifted off of Stan's shoulder, his nose abandoning the warm, wet neck he'd been not so discretely sniffing. "Out? Where? Out alone? Why are you here? Why am I here, if Gibbs is out there? Who is backing him up? Jesus Christ, McGee....is that why you got into bed with me? 'Cause Gibbs was gone? Gibbs is gonna know. He's gonna rip

your head off." Tony ranted.

 

McGee stared back at him, mouth agape, then suddenly seemed to realize how exposed he was and snatched at the sheet, dragging it over his lap, fumbling under it to pull up his briefs. "I was not in your bed!" He protested, then blinked, correcting himself. "I mean, well I was, but it was because when Stan got up to shower, you started to whimper, and I was tired and you were keeping me awake, uh, whimpering...."

 

"I don't whimper." Tony said dangerously, pointing at the bed-hopping Sentinel with a finger. "I. Don't. Whimper." He emphasized. He whirled on Stan as much as he could while already being in the man's arms.

 

"And you didn't say, just where is Gibbs?" Tony's eyes narrowed. "And Ziva...." Then he stopped, his memory finally kicking in. "Oh, shit, Abs." His legs folded, dropping him toward the floor. Stan swung him around, so he landed on the bed.

 

The blond Sentinel shot one glaring look at the man already in the bed, and McGee was up and out of the bed clutching the sheet to him modestly, face aflame.

 

"I'll just...go." He indicated the outer room, free hand flailing. "Uh, go...get dressed, put some pants..." He fled, not finishing the sentence, more incoherent than usual.

 

Tony let his head drop into his hands. Until someone, not one of his Sentinels but a Sentinel none the less appeared kneeling in front of him. Stan's arms kept him from rearing back away from the stranger, kneeling between his legs.

 

"Who are you?" Tony growled, pulling a pillow over to cover his crotch. The man's eyes didn't widen in alarm, the usual response to hearing that kind of growl from Tony, who all Sentinels knew instinctively was a Guide. Guides though, didn't growl like Sentinels. Well, except for Tony. This man looked like he was going to faint, sure, but not from fear or from shock. He looked like he was in love. Had found the holy grail. Tony stared at him distrustfully. That kind of thing only happened when...

 

"Sentinel Specialist..." said Stan, moving impossibly closer, winding himself around Tony, Tony's hand finding it's way to the muscular, furry thigh, clutching it with strong fingers. Tony understood instantly, he sighed. That explained it all. He relaxed, interrupting.

 

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Why is he here? Why are you here?" He asked the shorter man who's hands were on his face, probing along the sutures of his skull, as he checked Tony's eyes, felt for his pulse, his bright, fascinated eyes sectioning Tony's face as if he was memorizing every pore. Yeah, this was soooo familiar. He and Abs always laughed at it....

 

Tony was up on his feet, agitated, the Specialist sitting sprawled on the carpet. "Abby! Where is Abby?" That shouted at Stan, who winced. McGee came running back into the room.

 

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

"Report." Victor Fitzgerald barked. The sentinels lined up in front of his desk exchanged wary glances, shifting nervously. That made Victor's radar ping. "Report, now!" His voice dropping an octave. His fists were braced on his desk as he leaned menacingly forward.

 

"He's been marked." The Sentinel to Victor's right spoke up, not looking at him, gaze fixed on the back wall. Victor spun his head to look at the man.

 

"My boy..." Victor swallowed, tried again. "He was marked." His face was growing dark, ominious. "By whom?"

 

"Huh?" The man's brow furrowed. He wasn't apparently all that brilliant. A simple question had stymied him. Victor ground his teeth together.

 

"Who did Martin smell like?" Victor asked with infinite patience, making sure to ennunciate each word clearly. "Which son-of-a-bitch left his...smell on my boy?" he had almost said slime. That was what it was in his vision. Viscous slime covering Martin's skin. Disgusting. He swallowed down the rising bile.

 

"Uhm. Well it was two men. Scents. On him." The man reported nervously. "If I had to say, I'd say Malone and Taylor. Hard to tell with the mixing." The man nodded as if confirming the assessment to himself. "Yeah, Malone and Taylor. They are always hanging all over him. I'd say it was them."

 

Victor dropped into his chair. The god-damned sodomites had taken Martin. Soiled and defiled his only son. He was muttering under his breath when one of the Sentinels interrupted him. He was going to kill Malone. Taylor...he would see him transferred to Anchorage. Where he would spend everyday of the rest of his life. Victor would make sure of it.

 

"No sir." The imbecile Sentinel broke into his thoughts of revenge.

 

"What?" Victor turned his full glare on the hapless group ranged in front of him. He was itching to break something, or someone. Better to save that energy up for the confrontation with Malone and Taylor. Not until after he had Martin back. Then he could indulge himself in his well deserved vengeance.

 

"Uh, yes, what, what, sir?" The Sentinel sounded confused.

 

Victor stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then it hit him. "What are you telling me?" It couldn't be. Was he that lucky?

 

"Not semen, sir, just scent, sweat, saliva. That kind of mark."

 

Victor Fitzgerald went limp with relief. There was still time to save Martin from Malone if they hurried. He was standing, up out of his chair before the intention passed his awareness.

 

"I want four of you, with me to the FBI building now. Guns, tasers. Everything. Now." Victory ground out. "Fast. We are going in. But quietly. I want men who can do covert. I do not want anyone alerted to our intent. We are going to rescue my son. Quietly. I want to be in and out of that building without anyone the wiser."

 

They were ready by the time he'd told his secretary he was going out, trailing around him as he strode out to the limousine. Four big men, none of them the ones who had been in front of his desk. These men, in their sobre suits were different. They were oddly silent. Their faces were serious, grim, determined. They followed him in another car.

 

Victor took the limo, he wanted to be alone, to regroup, get his cool back. Martin had always been able to disrupt his calm. He'd never been a cooperative boy, never picked up on what was expected of him. Always needing to be told.

 

This current situation was just one more example of that. Well, enough. It was not going to happen again. In one hour he was going to have Martin under lock and key, safe, supervised. And examined by the best doctors in the project. Assuring himself that Martin was truly untouched. By tomorrow Martin would be in the Utopia Project and undergoing treatment. And no more trouble. Docile. Cooperative. Like a good Guide.

 

Victor leaned back in the car's expansive back seat. He hit the switch to raise the divider between himself and the driver. He dialed the number from memory again.

 

"I need to know if the offer has been taken." He said into the breathing phone. It was seriously getting on his nerves, the breathing. Couldn't they talk like civilized men? All this fucking subterfuge, this complex sheilding, not letting him know who the hell he was dealing with. The soft click of the connection being terminated was the only reply to his demand. Victor Fitzgerald threw the phone across the interior. It shattered against the far door.

 

"Sir?" The intercom sounded. "Is everything alright?"

 

Victor swore silently. It was one of the hazards of employing Sentinels. Privacy was esentially non-existant. "Yes, Hanson, everything is fine." He said smoothly, offering no explanation. Hanson fell silent.

 

Victor pulled his shredded control together. He couldn't afford to be out of control. He had to keep up his image. Be in charge. He was about to save his son from the worst mistake a man could make.


	14. Chapter 14

Martin thought back to the events of the night before.

 

"You know...I haven't done this before." Martin said, when they'd been quiet for a while, maybe fifteen minutes or more.

 

Each man was in his own chair, Danny had reluctantly gotten up off the floor with Jack's urging, (the younger Sentinel hadn't wanted to move away from Martin).

 

The chairs now rested companionably closer, so the men sitting in them could bump and brush hands and arms, as they rested them on the padded armrests.

 

Jack nodded in response to Martin's statement, his head resting against the headrest of his chair.

 

"I know." He said, very aware of the line of warmth where his arm lay against Martin's. On the other side of the relaxed Guide, Danny made a sound, too quiet for Martin to translate. The Sentinel's bare feet rested on the thick carpet, long legs stretched out in front of him, narrow hips tilted, drawing Martin's eye. Martin's stockinged feet tangled with the bared ones. He wriggled his toes every so often.

 

"We know." Jack interpreted Danny's little grunt in response to Martin's statement.

 

"I mean, I haven't been with a man before, not any man, Sentinel or not." Martin said, not wanting any confusion, inhibitions substantially lowered by the two glasses of Scotch he'd consumed before Jack took the glass from him. Martin was pleasantly buzzed, he realized. Danny murmured something else, his lanky form languidly shifting closer to the Guide.

 

"We know. It is all right, Martin. Not a problem for us, if it isn't one for you." Jack reassured. "Sex isn't a requirement for our bond. It never will be."

 

Danny roused himself enough to lift his head.

 

"Hey!" He protested, mildly. Jack glared at him, willing him to keep his mouth shut. Danny frowned, then dropped his gaze back to the panorama exposed by the open curtains. His jaw flexed, his hips seconded the motion, drawing Martin's eye again.

 

"I ~want~ sex." Danny muttered, fervently. His lip pushed out in a unmistakable pout. "I want sex with Martin." He added.

 

Jack fought down the grin that threatened to break out over his face. Yes, Danny wanted sex. And badly. So did Jack. Martin was one of the most beautiful men he had ever met. And he was real, not some Hollywood caricature of an FBI agent or action star. But sex was up to Martin, not to Jack or Danny. What ever Martin wanted, Martin would get.

 

They were silent again, the three of them, resting in their chairs, Danny's hand brushed against Martin's, his foot running over the top of the stockinged one, as they contemplated the view, which despite being spectacular was a distant second to the decision being made now, a decision that would impact their immediate future.

 

Danny let his fingers twine around Martin's.

 

To say Danny wanted Martin was a gross understatement. He more than wanted him. He dreamed about them together, he imagined Martin turning into his kiss, opening his body....Danny needed to be able to touch him, take him. The need filled him. Martin's grip tightened around his, as if he understood what Danny was thinking. They sat for a moment holding hands.

 

Danny thought about raising the hand holding his to his mouth. Taking the long, graceful fingers into his mouth, suckling them. Feeling them sliding deep, over his tongue. Tasting Martin. For the hundredth time that night Danny was achingly hard. He stifled the little moan that wanted to rise up out of his chest. He forced himself to sit still, ignoring the erection tenting his pants. Martin swallowed hard, not missing the change in contour.

 

Fuck it, Danny said internally. He lifted Martin's hand, let his lips soften, rest on the back of it, he inhaled, the warm scent filling his senses, curling into his nose, making its way into his throat, his lungs.

 

Soap, skin, Martin, herbal tea, and quality booze. Danny let the very tip of his tongue sneak out of his mouth, touch the skin. He nearly groaned at the taste exploding across his taste buds.

 

Whatever else was there, Martin's flavor was pre-dominant. It filled Danny's mouth, his tongue flattened against more of Martin's hand, feeling the movement of bone and sinew under his mouth. His teeth grazed the flesh ever so carefully, little bites. The Martin-flavor grew more intense. Danny leaned in, canted his hips towards Martin, put his knee on the arm of the chair, dared to look up.

 

Hazel eyes blackened to midnight sky by hugely dilated pupils greeted him. Martin was staring at him, at his mouth moving over his hand, not pulling his hand away, watching as Danny's lips caressed him, a flush spreading on his cheeks, lips parted. Danny moaned, praying Jack wasn't about to stop this. Not now. He licked up the back of Martin's hand, licked up his fingers. Let them slip into his mouth, sucking them tip to base, peeked up at Martin, who looked ready to faint.

 

"Please, please, please." Danny thought. His teeth nipped the ends of Martin's fingers as he moved on to lap at Martin's palm.

 

The room was dark. No light beyond a series of candles on top of the little glass plate on Jack's desk. Three candles, behind a shield of amber colored glass, casting the room in a soft gold light.

 

Danny was making the first move, the move that should have been Martin's. With his mouth and tongue, he was seducing Martin. Just his mouth, and Martin's hand, and suddenly there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. Martin shivered. He'd be crazy to stop it. He didn't want it to stop. He wanted that mouth on him, hand, neck, cock, his own mouth, he didn't care, just as long as it didn't stop.

 

Until Danny had picked up Martin's hand, Martin had been searching for a way to begin.

 

"Is it what you want?" Jack asked after a time of observing the two men, his voice like cool, dark molasses in contrast to the burning maple heat of Danny's tongue. "Are you sure?"

 

Martin was sure. He was blisteringly sure as he watched his fingers disappear into Danny's mouth. As he felt the slick wetness wind down over his skin, flicker between his fingers into the sensitive webs. The suckling grew infinitesimally stronger, hotter, slower. Until his fingers slid out of Danny's mouth. The soft, wet, swollen lips pressing to his wrist, over the pulse, sucking, kissing, sucking.

 

"Oh, fuck." Martin breathed. "Oh....hell yes." Martin turned his head, forced lucid words out, in a tone of voice that was anything but sensible, shivery with longing. "It is. It is exactly what I want."

 

"Yes," he said to Jack, then turned to Danny again, meeting the younger man's dark brown eyes directly. "Yes...." And he couldn't think of anything he wanted more. Maybe he wasn't going into this for all the right reasons. He wasn't in love, he didn't think. But he felt good. He felt safe. He felt aroused. Intrigued.

 

Martin let himself sink into the feel of Danny touching him. Then he gathered the last shreds of his self control and stood, swaying, looking down into dazed eyes. "I'll be just a minute," he said to them. Then he staggered off to the master bathroom.

 

He showered. Washing carefully, ignoring his erection until it deflated, making sure he didn't miss anything, any nook or cranny. Then he dried himself. Combed his hair. Looked at himself in the mirror. Drew in a deep, shaky breath.

 

He was nervous. His lips wet from licking them, pink, from his teeth worrying them, as he thought about what he was going to do. No going back. He hung the towel over the rail. No chickening out. No big fluffy robe to hide behind. When he walked out of the bathroom he was naked.

 

Danny saw him first, turning his head lazily along the back of his chair, shirt unbuttoned to his belt, as the door opened, steam billowing out in a cloud. He saw Martin, blinked several times, as if he didn't understand what he was seeing, then he came out of his chair like a shot. His arms were around Martin before Martin had time to feel self-conscious.

 

Jack's hand cupped his skull, fingers weaving through the wavy, short hair, tugging on it, smoothing it. Jack was smiling as Danny groaned into Martin's neck, tremors shaking him every bit as strongly as the ones racing up Martin's spine and down his arms. Martin's head fell back to let the Sentinel nuzzle at the long, smooth line of his

throat. He felt teeth scrape, and he shivered again.

 

"Danny..." Martin got out, and was swept up in powerful, Sentinel arms, carried half a dozen strides across the floor, and placed on the bed. He watched as Danny tore his clothing off. He was more muscular than his clothes made him look. His muscles all deeply cut, very little fat on him, just hard corded chest, limbs, with a swell of bicep that was impressive. His belly was flat and just as deeply cut, heaving with the panted breaths. And below, in the space between his thighs, he was hot and hard, ready. Martin broke out in a sweat. Was it normal to feel like this? Was it normal to want to know what that long length felt like pressing into his belly, into his body?

 

"Martin...please..." It came out deep and desperate. "Please, Martin, can I? You have to say yes. Please." It took Martin a while to realize Danny was talking to him, low and earnest, his body trembling on the edge of need, his fingers digging into the comforter. It took another minute to understand Danny was waiting for Martin's permission.

 

Martin nodded, his tongue uselessly glued to the roof of his too dry mouth. His eyes moved to Jack, still dressed. He frowned as Danny let out a breathy, "Thank God," crawling up from the foot of the bed to lay alongside him. Naked flesh touched, rubbed. Martin arched into the hand that stroked over his chest, then stole down over his belly. The hot hardness, up against his hip, intimate, so that was how that felt....

 

Danny's hand cupping him. Fingers stroking that place behind his balls. A place swollen, sensitive, hungry. And then further back, until Martin gasped aloud, his hips lifting, his thighs falling apart. It wasn't what he'd expected, it wasn't bad, it was good. So good.

 

Danny pressed the pad of a single finger over the hot entrance to Martin's body. stroked it with little movements. Caresses. Martin groaned, Danny's face pressed up against his own. Kisses against his cheek. The corner of his mouth, kisses as the finger petted him, melted him. Made him want even more.

 

Jack was watching them. Not on the bed with them. That wasn't right.

 

Martin managed to moan. "Jack, you, too."

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Gibbs called in about the same time Tony, Stan and McGee arrived at the FBI headquarters.

 

Tony was beside himself, agitated. When Jack's phone rang, the big Guide jumped, his eyes so wide a ring of white showed around the irises. His fingers twitched, his head tilting as his hearing zeroed in on the conversation.

 

Gibbs gave his report of the situation without bothering to do more than tell Jack it was him calling. Short and sharp.

 

Four long, leaping strides, and Tony snatched the phone out of Jack's hand. He was suddenly still, suddenly eerily calm, his voice taut but perfectly even as he spoke.

 

"Boss." He started. "Listen to me. Do not get close to her. Do not challenge her. Do not try to stop her. Understand me? This is your Guide talking. This isn't 'Tony'. It's your ~Guide~. Understand? Do not let her close." Each word was clipped, exact. Tony's body was utterly still, his senses focused, he was barely breathing.

 

"Yes, Guide." Gibbs voice was just as calm, just as quiet. "I'll be careful, Tony."

 

Tony's grip on the receiver tightened. The plastic let out an ominous crack. "Tell me where you are." He murmured, softly. He held out his hand for a pen and paper. McGee stepped up to his side, tuning into the sound of Gibbs' voice, ready to record the location.

 

Gibbs described the area, gave a cross street. McGee wrote it down, let Tony see it, waiting for the nod. Tony nodded, and turned his full attention back to the phone as McGee shared the address with the FBI agents.

 

"You stay back. Even if Ziva goes in. Promise me." Tony pleaded as he watched McGee disseminate the information. Tony's hands now shaking so badly his usually steady grip was in danger of letting the phone tumble. Jack snatched his phone back out of the air, as it dropped out of Tony's hand.

 

"I can't promise that." Gibbs said. Then he cut the connection before Jack could say anything.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Waiting was the hard part. Tony, Stan and McGee had gone to the site. They were the members of the team least likely to upset David in her current primal state. They had a half dozen other agents to back them up from a safe distance, to set up road blocks and chase down any fleeing suspects. Ambulances were being called in to stand at the ready on the outskirts of the perimeter.

 

The Cascade group had argued about if they should go, be part of the probable rescue, or stay and protect Blair. Blair had cut the discussion off by insisting they go. It was why they had come to DC in the first place. He would stay inside, near Jack and the rest of the team. Ducky promised he wouldn't let the young man out of his sight for a second.

 

With mixed feelings Jim, Brian and Tiik had gone.

 

Martin at last, stood and stretched. It hadn't been fifteen minutes since the heavily armed group had left. They wouldn't arrive at the suburban area of interest for another thirty minutes, not even if Tony could fly like he wanted to. Time for a bathroom and food break. Then they could all stay and listen in on the reports coming in from the Sentinels involved in the converging task force.

 

Jack eyed Martin as he straightened. "Where are you going?" He rapped out, halting the Guide in his tracks. Martin turned around and stared at him.

 

"Bathroom. Then I'll get us all some...." He said, surprised to hear that tone from his Sentinel. Then he thought about it. Given the situation they now found themselves in, the stress, the operation about to break, it wasn't that unusual.

 

"No. Not alone." Jack ordered firmly, turning towards Danny. About to order him to go with Martin when Blair spoke up.

 

"I'll go." The shaman said.

 

"And I. My bladder isn't what it once was. I could certainly use a trip to the loo." Ducky was on his feet, adjusting the set of his belt. His face was concerned. "I need something, even something as mundane as a trip to the facilities to take my mind off the excitement. Unfortunately, I am all too familiar with Agent David's capabilities. And while I do believe Jethro is more than capable of defending himself, all things being equal, there are certainly variables that can't always be anticipated. I've seen it before. I distinctly remember one such instance, in Afghanistan I recall, when a young, powerfully built service man thought he could...."

 

The older man smelled odd. Jack sniffed, careful not to be obvious about it. He smelled like...Jack bit his lip, fighting to keep his eyes in his head. No, it couldn't be. He realized everyone was waiting on him to decide. He forced his shock down. Then nodded his head. "Bathroom and back." He allowed, looking into Martin's eyes, making sure the Guide saw how serious he was. "No going down to the cafeteria. Call for food from here. Take your cell with you. Anything looks hinky, you call. Or yell for help."

 

"Yes, Jack." Martin agreed mildly, almost meekly. He sort of liked this protective Jack. It wasn't the same as Sam, who had smothered him, castigated him, ridiculed him, without ever letting him feel she cared about him as more than her possession. This was...nice. Jack's hand came up to grip Martin's arm, giving it an affectionate mostly concealed squeeze. "I mean it, anything isn't right, you let me know. Call, or scream or whatever you have to do. We'll hear you."

 

Martin flushed, embarrassed. But he nodded. Blair took one look at the blushing man, laughing as he recognized himself from only a few years ago. There had been a time when he refused to make a spectacle of himself, was too macho to admit he needed help. A long, long time ago.

 

"Hey, don't worry. I'll scream my head off loud enough for all of us." Blair avowed. "I have no pride left when it comes to things like that. Jim trained it out of me. No pride at all when it comes to screaming for help." Martin stared at him aghast. Then headed off without a word, mouth flat.

 

Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or to cry. The scent hovering around the Cascade Guide caught his attention and confirmed what his incredulous assessment of Ducky had hinted at. Ducky smelled of sex and Blair. Blair smelled of sex and...Ducky.

 

Jack shook his head. Guides. You couldn't ever trust you knew them, what they wanted or what they would do. The gorgeous Guide from Cascade, with the huge, luminous blue eyes, who could have any man or woman in this building at the mere crook of his finger, had chosen to bed a man three times or more his own age. Had chosen him and chose also to leave the scent of their coupling on his skin. Letting every Sentinel in a twenty yard radius know.

 

Jack shook his head to clear it of the distracting visuals provided when he thought of Blair on his back, arms lifting, lips parted, eyes dark, welcoming, much as Martin had looked in their bed last night. He really should send Danny after Martin, despite the tacit agreement that Ducky and Blair would be enough. Jack bit his tongue to keep that order from spilling out.

 

Blair took Ducky's arm pulling him near, their heads immediately leaning together companionably, and gently steered him out of the briefing room after Martin's rapidly retreating back. Ducky kept relating the story, not losing the train of his thoughts, outlining how a native child of no more than ten years, rather malnourished and undersized, had surprised the soldier and knocked him out purely by chance.

 

Jack wasn't the only Sentinel staring out after them as they left. My god, he thought. Then his handset squawked. "Malone!" He barked into the set.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Martin disappeared inside the restroom, several yards ahead of the other two men. Less than ten seconds later, just as Ducky's hand reached out to push open the door, there was a thump. The door shuddered.

 

Blair and Ducky exchanged glances. Ducky nodded once. Then they pushed the door together, hard. It resisted for an instant then burst open.

 

Martin was down, unconscious on the floor, two men kneeling over him, two more flanking the door, off balance after the door had hit them. A fifth man stood back out of the way, a look of avid satisfaction on his refined features.

 

All of the men looked up, surprise etched on their faces. The nearest man to Blair lifted his gun. Blair thrust out his hand, not touching the man, but the man fell, eyes rolling up into his head, he made a distinctive whine as he fell, his head striking with a sound akin to a ripe melon being thumped.

 

Ducky knocked the second man's arm up and aside, a distinctive crack letting Ducky know the wrist had shattered, sending the pistol the man had held flying up in the air, and over one of the dividers. A distinctly wet 'plop' let everyone know where the weapon had ended it's flight. Then Ducky kicked out at the third, impossibly wide shouldered man who was gaining his feet. Leaving Martin to his compatriot, he raised his gun.

 

Ducky's foot snapped out, impacted the man's wrist, disturbing his aim just as the trigger was squeezed, a shot whizzing through the air, missing Blair by the merest fraction, and a second gun was flying into the air. Straight into Blair's hands.

 

"Damn, I ~hate~ guns!" The Cascade Guide muttered as he snatched it out of the air before it could smack into his chest, expertly handling the weapon, acquiring his target, holding it in the classic two handed grip, aimed at the only man still daring to move in the room.

 

"Oh, for Pete's...." The elegant man pulled his lapel aside with an impatient hand, reaching under his coat.

 

"Freeze." Blair said. his tone left no doubt as to the consequence of his instruction wasn't heeded.

 

"I wouldn't recommend ignoring that advice." Dr Mallard added sincerely, when the man continued to advance across the tiled floor. The man shot him an imperious, contemptuous glance.

 

"I am Victor Fitzgerald, I am an Assistant Director of the FBI. I order you to leave my son...." He fumbled for his identification, annoyed that it wasn't in his pocket. He was sure he'd put it there.

 

Blair shot him in the foot. Victor Fitzgerald stopped. He looked down, disbelieving as blood welled from a hole in his ruined, thousand dollar, leather shoe. His mouth gaped. Then he screamed and crumpled to the floor.

 

The fourth man, who wisely had both hands lifted high over his head, fell back as boss landed on top of him. Ducky relieved him of his gun, kneeling down beside Martin and beginning to check him over.

 

"Don't move." Blair said, sweetly. "I hate guns." He explained. "But Jim makes me go to the range every week. I can shoot the center out of the ace of hearts at fifty feet." He said apologetically, adding warningly. "Which is a lot smaller target than your forehead right now."

 

Behind them the door burst open, and the washroom filled with FBI Sentinels, guns drawn.

 

"Jesus Christ," someone said. "First we are all but deafened out there when they screamed. Then we hear gunshots. And Malone..."

 

"Hey, it smells llike...." A second Sentinel began.

 

"Shut up." Jack ordered, crisply, not wanting to hear what the other man was going to say. He didn't care if it was Blair and Duckiy the man was sniffing, or Martin who bore both his and Danny's scents. Either way Jack was in no mood for levity, or for the obvious. He wanted nothing more in life at this moment that to go down on his knees and strangle Victor Fitzgerald.

 

The man lay on his side, moaning. Only a few feet away. It would be so easy to just walk over there....

 

He yelled out the door. "Viv, we need medics and the Guardians. Five men in here I want them all in custody. One is Assistant Director Fitzgerald. He's been shot." An uncomfortable silence fell. "Martin is down."

 

"All right, Jack." Viivian Johnson's utterly calm Guide's voice came through the door several beats later. Then, "Jack, I'm coming in."

 

Absurdly Jack had an impulse to remind her it was the men's room. He successfully quashed the words before they made it past his lips.


	15. Chapter 15

Danny's first move had been to draw his gun and point it at Victor Fitzgerald, his aim was rock solid, his finger already preparing to compress the trigger as he attained his target, Sentinel sight locked in.

 

The AD was curled up on the floor of the restroom, grasping his ankle while his foot continued to bleed sluggishly. His face was a mask of suffering, and Danny felt a grim joy fill him. Victor's response to having a gun aimed between his eyes had been to glare up at the FBI Sentinel holding the gun on him, nose wrinkled as if he smelled something foul, his patrician features contorted with pain and contempt.

 

"Peasant." Victor hissed at him, hatred burning in his hazel eyes. "Whore master." The words hit Danny in the face with a physical force. His finger tightened. Jeez, the man was deluded.

 

Danny wanted to shoot him, just as Blair had done, but between the eyes, not in the foot. Why on Earth had Blair aimed at his foot? Martin's groan distracted Danny, reminded him of more important things.

 

"Don't you fucking move, you bastard." Danny Taylor's voice held a warning not even Victor Fitzgerald Assistant Director of the FBI would dare ignore. "There is almost nothing I want more than to put you out of your misery. Don't give me an excuse."

 

"He reeks of you. He is corrupted. Fouled." Victor sneered at his unmoving son. His lip curled in distaste as his eyes raked Martin from head to foot. "Jezebel. He has whored himself out to you and Malone. He is contaminated, beyond salvaging. We want nothing more to do with him."

 

Danny turned white, almost lunging at the man and throttling him with his bare hands. forgetting about the gun he held, and wanting to fall back into a more primitive method of exacting retribution. Jack grabbed his arm, swinging him back around so that he and Jack faced each other. So Danny could no longer see the injured man. Jack's hands clamped onto his face like twin vises. Holding him immobile.

 

"No." Jack ordered, leaning in, the alpha-scent of him filling Danny's awareness, reinforcing the order. "Take care of Martin. Leave Fitzgerald to me." He said it against Danny's ear, too low for anyone else to hear.

 

Jack was going to see the man pay for what he'd tried to do. Victor was going to go up before a Sentinel panel, and be judged publicly for his crime. Punished. He was going to feel the full weight of public opinion fall on him. There were only a handful of crimes Sentinels held more in abeyance than the forcible kidnapping and/or abuse of a Guide.

 

Jack couldn't make Victor pay for the past, for his failure to be a good father, there were too many who believed he was right to do what he'd done, matchmaking, finding wealthy, blue blood mates for his son. There were too many others right here in Washington, wealthy, influential men and women who did the same thing for their sons and daughters. Who called it looking out for the interests of their children as they went about arranging marriages without consulting their children's preferences.

 

But, abducting Martin, or attempting to, and injuring him in the process, that Jack would make him pay for.

 

Martin was a claimed Guide. He had willingly consented to bond with Jack and Danny. He had let their scent remain on his skin when they went to work today, a thing he had never done with Sam. With her, he had washed until his skin was free of her smells. Today, every Sentinel who had walked by the trio could be called as a witness to the fact Martin had left their scent on himself. Martin was now fully and formally bonded and he had let it be known to whom. Kidnapping him, or trying to, was a federal offense. Taking him from his bonded Sentinels, depriving them of his companionship, was a second charge and a third since there were two Sentinels Martin was bonded to. Injuring Martin was a fourth federal felony. The foul shit coming out of Fitzgerald's mouth could be used to elevate the offense to a hate crime.

 

If it wouldn't have been so hard on Danny, on his career in the FBI, and personally, Jack would have liked to let the younger man shoot and kill Victor. Hell Jack himself wanted to shoot the man so badly he could taste it. Locking him up and throwing away the key would have to suffice.

 

Reality was, what ever he thought or felt now, Danny would be traumatized by the act of coldly putting a slug into Victor Fitzgerald's brain. Maybe not right away, but some day, when he thought back and realized he had killed Martin's father. The father of his Guide. It would hurt him, and Martin. Their relationship would suffer. Which still had to be handled with kid gloves if it was to grow and stay healthy. Jack was going to bend over backwards to see that it did. To see that nothing interfered with his partners and the new bond they all shared.

 

Jack watched Danny holster his gun and go down onto his knees near Martin. Jack stayed on his feet, watching Victor and the men he'd brought with him, as they were dragged out one by one.

 

Blair was the first focus of the big men filling the room, he was surrounded and dwarfed by towering Guardian Sentinels. They sniffed his hands when he willingly handed them the gun, confirming that he had been the one to shoot the A.D..

 

Blair admitted his action readily. It had been in defense of himself and Ducky, as well as the downed Martin, he explained. Blair had no reason to know the older man was who he claimed to be, an Assistant Director of the FBI. Why should he believe it, when the man had clearly been part of a kidnapping attempt? He pointed that out with impeccable logic. In fact, Blair stated with wide-eyed vulnerability, he was positive that he and Martin were going to be kidnapped. By the same people who were responsible for all the other Guide kidnappings.

 

Every Sentinel head in the crowded restroom snapped around to look at the little shaman when he said that. Staring at him. Listening to his heart beat, hearing the tremor of fear, scenting him, seeing, knowing that he believed these men to be responsible. To be among the kidnappers.

 

Teeth, gleaming white, were bared around the room. All the Sentinels present bristling, putting on a threat display for the benefit of the vanquished men. Guardian Sentinels, lips curled in disgust, judged the men and found them wanting. They were treated with minimum care.

 

Jack was floored by the Cascade Guide's simple assertion. It made perfect sense. Absolute logic. Victor Fitzgerald, of the FBI, was involved. No wonder the group responsible for the abductions hadn't been caught. It was the ultimate inside job. And Sandburg had figured it out. Put it all together. Then a terrible thought occurred to Jack. Surely it couldn't be possible...but...the idea festered, growing. Was Sam involved? An agent he had trusted, who he was responsible for?

 

Jack didn't miss the gleam in the eye of the shaman as he watched the displays of protectiveness before being led out of the restroom with solicitous care. His secret smile reassured Jack that Blair would be OK. The Guardians would protect him at the cost of their lives. Not even Jim Ellison himself would do a better job of it.

 

"He is not under arrest,"Jack had warned the big Sentinels when they moved out with Blair. "Keep him safe." And they had formed a wall around Blair, who rolled his eyes.

 

"Not again," He muttered, under his breath. Then he raised his voice. "Agent Malone? Jack? Can someone please call Jim? Detective Ellison? He's going to sense something happened to me. It's better if he knows what to expect when he gets here. Believe me, surprises are a bad thing when it comes to him."

 

Vivian rose to her feet from where she had been crouched down next to Martin, Danny and Ducky. 

 

"I'll take care of it. Better news coming from a Guide?" She asked Blair. He nodded.

 

"Oh, yeah. That would be much better. Get ahold of Rafe if you can. Don't tell Jim first off. Let Rafe tell him, or Tiik if Rafe doesn't answer." Vivian stared at the Cascade Guide. Then her brows rose. "BPS?" She guessed, trying to keep the awe out of her voice.

 

When a Sentinel was really in tune with his Guide, the Sentinel could actually pick up impressions of events at an impossible distance. There was a psychic connection between them. That extremely rare confluence of chance gifts and compatibility was called Blessed Protector Syndrome.

 

Looking surprised she'd figured it out so fast, Blair confirmed her guess. "Yeah. BPS in a big way. Only Sentinel I've ever met with a full blown case who wasn't locked up somewhere. He's a good man, has the will power of a whole platoon of Rangers, but he does have BPS, even if he has all that control. If he even thinks I've been hurt...it will get ugly. Jim'll be all lizard-brain until he is convinced I'm not hurt. Just let Rafe and Tiik know I'm OK, so they'll be ready when Jim finds out about all this." He waved a graceful hand around, encompassing all that had gone down. "They've had a lot of practice handling Jim."

 

"You want to call them yourself?" Vivian offered. She was a courageous woman, a strong Guide. But she didn't want anything to do with getting between a shaman and his Sentinel with Blessed Protector Syndrome. She'd seen the kinds of rampages those Sentinels could unleash when their Guides had been harmed.

 

Viv had been upset over having the David woman in her city while primal. But that worry was less than a tenth of what she felt thinking what would go down if Ellison went postal.

 

Blair perked up. The Guardians around him all leaned in toward him, like a pack of lions basking in the sun. The Guide flashed a huge smile at Vivian. "You'll let me call?" He asked brightly. "That would be so cool. And uh, we'll need a room. A private one." He blushed faintly.

 

Viv managed to keep the smile off of her face as she saw his pink cheeks. Yes, a Sentinel in activated BPS...she bet Sandburg wanted a private room. Otherwise Ellison would strip him naked and examine him in the middle of the downstairs lobby, no matter how big the audience. She bit her lip.

 

"I'll see what I can do." Her voice had a strangely strangled quality to it.

 

The Guardian Sentinel moved Blair and Viv to the side to let two groups of paramedics with kits and stretchers hurry past heading for the restroom.

 

Vivian noticed that Blair reached out, not a conscious move, she'd be willing to lay money on it, and touched the Guardian nearest him. His hand was small, square, capable, looking no larger than a child's hand on the big man's waist. The Guardian's hand came up, and stroked the Cascade Guide's hair soothingly. then his hands, as if he wasn't able to stop it, continued to stroke down Sandburg's shoulders and back as they started moving again.

 

Blair made the call to Rafe's phone while sitting in Vivian's office, one Guardian at his side, four others outside the room, glowering at anyone who tried to head their way.

 

"Tiik? It's Blair. Uhm. You know how you always say I'm a trouble magnet? Well....."

 

Even Viv could hear the explosion of hissing words from the other end. And she could have sworn the huge black man was unusually controlled for a Sentinel. It wasn't that he was yelling, but it was impossible to miss the vehemence of the conversation on the Sentinel's end. Blair hung his head, listening.

 

"Yes. Yes." He repeated. Sighed. "Yes. Viv is getting a room at FBI head...yes." He turned to her, and raised his brows. "Where....?"

 

"Second floor, front, room 213a. A bonding room. Fresh blankets, scent free. The whole room has been cleared. The Guardians will show them the way."

 

But Blair shook his head. "Won't need them. Jim will find me. Better to clear everyone out of the path between me and the front door. Did you catch that T?"

 

So Viv had talked the Guardians into posting at a distance from the second floor room. Blair was sitting inside. Vivian in a corner, far removed from Blair. Not touching him. She was a Guide, but even Guides had no guaranteed immunity when it came to a Sentinel in BPS. Ellison would not be the serious, controlled and rational man she'd known. Not until he had bonded with his Guide anew.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Danny was on the floor of the restroom. He'd pulled Martin up between his legs, so the Guide's shoulder rested on one bent up thigh, his head against Danny's hip. He'd waited with quivering anxiety as Ducky examined Martin, then gave permission for Martin's position to be changed.

 

No way was Danny going to leave his Guide down there on the filthy floor. Even if he had to put his own body between Martin and the tile. His hands searched Martin, every inch within reach. He found the bump on the back of his Guide's head. Spongy, soggy with blood, but no more was leaking out. Martin must have been grabbed, thrown down or hit to the back of the head and allowed to fall unchecked, unprotected, bruising his face. Danny let his fingers ghost over the mark running from cheek to jaw along the right side of Martin's head. He felt the broken blood vessels, the disrupted tissues that would blossom into a livid array of colors by tomorrow, and only get more impressive as the

week went by.

 

Martin was stirring. Letting out a groan as he moved, hands going to his head. Gently Danny caught them in his own. He crooned to the rousing man.

 

"Gently, my boy. He's lost consciousness, a concussion, though probably not too severe. His neck seems uninjured. But I don't doubt he'll feel poorly for a day or two. Perhaps nauseous, a headache. Vomiting isn't out of the question either. I'll also warrant he'll need his hair clipped and a few stitches for that occipital laceration."

 

Ducky looked towards the man who was holding his foot, a look of utter and complete outrage on his face. The ME's expression was one of abject disapproval. He made no motion towards the man, who could suffer all the agonies of hell before Ducky would voluntarily render his assistance.

 

Jack was down next to them. "Careful," he warned Danny as the younger Sentinel began to sniff his soaked fingers, showing definite signs of an impending zone as he smelled his Guide's blood. "Let them take him, Danny. We'll go with him, but the paramedics need to get him to the hospital. Let them put him on the stretcher."

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Ziva David circled the clinic quickly. He Guide was inside. She was being fast but careful, taking in the layout and defenses. Soundless, she moved over the grass and to a low window propped open six feet off the ground. She eyed the distance. Calculating. Stepping back a dozen feet she paused then sprinted forward, launching herself upwards with fluid, slender grace.

 

She caught the sill, hoisted herself up smoothly, and slithered through, easy as you please. Disappearing in the blink of an eye. All without a single sound to alert anyone she had passed by.

 

Gibbs watched her from a safe distance, tuning into her movements with his hearing once she vanished into the building. He heard the first grunt within ten seconds, then the thud of the body hitting the floor. Two more thuds followed in less than a minute. Gibbs headed for the window himself.

 

The leap was not a difficult one. He kept all his senses on high alert. Ziva was in hunter's mode. He didn't want to be another of her hapless victims. She was eliminating targets in pursuit of her goal. Hopefully not permanently. It would be hard to get her off of multiple murder charges. Even a primal Sentinel didn't have full immunity, she could end up in an institution, in prison if things went too far.

 

Gibbs had to get inside, no matter the risk and do what he could to keep her safe and in line. And he had to find Abby. If he could remind Ziva that was their goal, perhaps she wouldn't slaughter everyone in the building.

 

He saw the first woman crumpled on the floor. He heard her heart beating, strong and regular if slightly faster than was ideal, saw her chest rise and fall. She was alive, and in no immediate danger. He moved on. Two men. Both unconscious. Both alive.

 

Gibbs was impressed. Ziva wasn't indiscriminately killing. That would be easier than reaching for and finding the tiny thread of control that enabled her to leave them alive. She wasn't taking care that they weren't hurt, Gibbs saw the broken bones she had left them with, she was just pulling her attack enough that they didn't die.

 

He followed the trail of bodies. A total of seven. He sniffed the sir, something....medicinal. He wrinkled his nose. He hated hospitals. Cleaning fluids. Blood. Vomit. Urine. Sweat. Tape-smell, a scent he hated. He heard the whir and beep of monitors. Then, most importantly, very faintly under all the layers of chemical odors, he smelled Abby.

 

She smelled bad. Unhealthy. Her heartbeat rapid. Her sweat sour. Her breathing wasn't good. Fuck. He began to move more rapidly towards her location.

 

Ziva came out of the corridor ahead of him, magically suddenly there, head lowered, eyes feral. He stopped in his tracks. Words dried up in his throat. No talking to her like this. She stopped also. Watching him, her eyes flickering, not human. She lifted her nose, sniffed. He put his arms out from his sides, showing her his empty hands. Lowered his gaze while keeping an eye on her from beneath lowered lashes.

 

He couldn't go to the floor, not with her in the state she was in. She would attack him, and on his knees he wouldn't be able to fight her off. No. He had to wait her out, see what she would do with him on his feet, a position of aggression.

 

All the while he could smell/sense Abby in trouble. Fuck. The need to get to her, to assess how bad things were burned at him.

 

Then Ziva was gone. Vanishing into the room next to her, three long steps to her back. Where Gibbs was sure Abby was. He lifted his cell phone to his ear. Dialled. Told the FBI Sentinel who answered he needed multiple ambulances and crews. He gave the address, warned them again that there was a primal Sentinel in the building. Then he hung up, turned the phone off and put the phone in his pocket.

 

He stepped around the corner, prepared to be attacked. No attack came.

 

Abby was in a bed in the middle of the row of gurneys underneath a cardiac and respiratory monitor array. Ziva was in bed with her, wrapped around her as close as a second skin. Ziva's body was stiff, straining, shuddering repeatedly as she held her Guide and lover.

 

Abby was grayish-white. Her black hair, tangled and matted, was stark against her pasty coloring. She was hooked up to a machine, a ventilator, a tube running into her mouth and down her throat. Bags of fluid dripped slowly into both arms.

 

Ziva was licking Abby's sweat dappled face, her temple, which was horrifically swollen and bruised.

 

The delicate flickers of Ziva's tongue tried to heal and comfort. Gibbs advanced with extreme caution. Ziva paid him no mind, focused on her Guide. She whined. Licked some more. Whined again. Abby never stirred.

 

Gibbs could smell illness, and more chemicals. Medicines. Maybe sedatives, if his memory of his time in the Service was not faulty. He'd been given those same kinds of meds when he was blown up in an explosion, and the doctors hadn't wanted him to move. Medicines that had mode it impossible for him to move. Medicine that maybe had made him look as dead as Abby looked now.

 

Even with her heart beating, and her lungs being filled and emptied with oxygen by the machine, she looked dead.


	16. Chapter 16

Victor Fitzgerald gave a long suffering sigh.

 

The sigh was more for window dressing than anything else. Inside he was grinning like a wolf sighting a lone deer. The idiots observing his questioning from outside the soundproofed, glass walled hospital suite had no idea what was really going on.

 

He was seated in a chair, his foot propped up on pillows, wrapped in layers of gauze. The podiatrist said he needed surgery. But not until some of the swelling went down. Tentatively a few days from now.

 

The robe Victor wore was not a hospital issued one. This garment was pure silk, a deep burgundy, thick, lined and elegant. His bed was made with 600 count Egyptian cotton sheets atop a cotton filled mattress pad. A coffee machine, a computer and a secretary had been moved into the suite of rooms. Though he had her step out once his lawyer arrived, sending her out for a long lunch.

 

The Sentinel prosecutor was questioning him, having obtained his permission to do so. Victor had readily agreed to the questioning. District Attorney Daniel Gibson Miles and he were close acquaintances since their grade school days. The line of question sounded aggressive, but Victor smiled inwardly, nothing he couldn't handle. There was no way Dan was going to arrest or prosecute him. He'd have to have his wife send over a bottle of Dom '69.

 

The Guardians outside the door couldn't hear a word being said. The white noise generators took care of the remote chance the sound-proofing wasn't up to par. After all even a Sentinel had a right to privacy, no matter his crime. Victor's attorney, Chase Harrington sat next to him in a low chair trying to keep the shock off his face. This wasn't like any session he'd sat in on before.

 

Miles' grim face hid the fact that the conversation was more an instruction and planning session than a suspect being grilled. Victor nodded at the appropriate times doing his best to look chastened. But it was all an act, Harrington figured out very quickly. He was sure of it the second time Victor glanced at his attorney when it was right, but nothing in his eyes showed he was cowed in any way, in fact he was smirking just a little. There was an undercurrent of smugness.

 

Chase was beyond shocked. He bent his head and made notes to hide the fact. Victor wasn't being questioned, he was being coached by the man who was going to prosecute his case. The DA was outlining every bit of evidence and the best way for Victor to counter it with his answers.

 

He had been a lawyer for ten years, but Chase had never sat in on anything like this. Essentially DA Miles was telling Victor and Chase how to beat the case against him. It wasn't legal. Chase loved the challenge of providing a good defense. He prided himself on being an excellent attorney. Bile rose up in his throat, however, when he contemplated this miscarriage of justice, this hijacking of the system. He had no way to get out of being a part of it.

 

He had no alternative. He had been selected from the firm to take on this case. They expected him to get Victor off as lightly as possible. Now it appeared that the man might actually be acquitted. With minimal effort. Found not guilty of the attempted kidnapping of his son, and the rumored kidnappings of other Guides, the ones going missing around the capital.

 

Chase looked studiously through his papers. Victor was guilty, he had no doubt, the evidence was clear. The man who had coordinated the abductions was sitting next to him. And he was supposed to let him walk. Help him do it.

 

Chase Harrington thought he was going to be physically sick.

 

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Down the hall and up two floors a far more serious group waited for word outside of the ICU. Ziva was the only one missing from the NCIS family.

 

Gibbs, Stan, Ducky, Tony and McGee stood in a tight group in the waiting room. Gibbs was fighting his urge to pace and growl. Ducky had looped a hand through his arm and was leaning against him. That alone was keeping the Sentinel in place. There had been more than one occasion when Gibbs was sure Ducky was a Guide, despite all the information to the contrary. Ducky calmed him down, not as well as DiNozzo, but better than anyone else. The little man was now mumbling his way through a long, elaborate story that no one was listening to. Just the stream of words was calming.

 

Tony had given in to the urge to move; an arm around Tim, he was pacing and muttering, Tim held tightly, pacing with him. Their heads were inclined together. McGee, his face wet from crying, his nose raw and running, was listening to Tony's prolonged diatribe, between bouts of thunderously blowing his nose. McGee's eyes were a violent cherry red. He sniffled.

 

Ziva could not be separated from Abby. She had clung like a limpet, refusing to let go, and short of breaking both arms and both legs there was no way to pull her off the injured Guide. The Sentinel and Guide specialists were versatile men and women. They managed as best they could to work around the dark haired Sentinel as they tended Abby. McGee had tried to follow, Gibbs, Stan and Tony holding onto his shoulders to keep him from joining his mates on the bed.

 

Gibbs had given the OK to administer a Sentinel safe, long-acting sedative to his female agent. And Ziva was now in a half doze, far less likely to kill anyone who hurt Abby unintentionally. She gave out a periodic, rumbling growl, or a shivering hiss every few minutes, but she hadn't tried to break any more bones, or bite anyone touching her Guide. Which, Gibbs thought, was as good as it was going to get until Abby was recovered and able to handle her Sentinel.

 

Tim hadn't been able to stop bawling when he'd seen the state Abby was in. His stay at her beside was brief, he had reached out and run his fingers through Ziva's tangled hair as it hung in a swathe off the edge of the bed. He'd picked it up in his hands, coiled it neatly and tucked it up behind her out of the way. Then he started sobbing.

 

Tony and Ducky led him out, Stan pushing from behind. Ducky had considered trying to slip the young man a sedative, but Tim had balked, sniffing suspiciously at the drink, his bloodshot eyes mournful and distrusting. Eventually Tony took over responsibility for the younger agent, Tony being the only Guide in the waiting area.

 

Gibbs watched them closely, alert for any problems. Tony was strong, independent, unconventional and impatient, but a damn good Guide when he had to be. He could Guide with the best Gibbs had ever seen. And he was doing it now. Totally focused on McGee, stroking and petting him, his big hands cupping the distraught Sentinel's face, keeping his senses engaged but refusing to allow him to overload and zone. If they let him, Tim would dial in on Abby and fall into a deep zone. Ziva was beyond helping him to adjust and anchor his senses. Sedated and barely out of her primal state.

 

Ducky patted Gibbs' arm as the silver haired Sentinel surveyed his troops. "We have her back, Jethro. She is going to recover despite what those imbeciles did to her. All it will take is time."

 

Gibbs had always been close to Abby. Ducky had been mildly surprised when Jethro hadn't asked the girl to Guide him. But he supposed the relationship was more like parent and child given the huge age difference. Gibbs loved Abby like a daughter, not passionately. It wasn't until Anthony Michael DiNozzo had come into the mix, Ducky had understood why Abby hadn't been Jethro's choice. From the first moment Ducky saw them standing shoulder to shoulder in his morgue, Tony a little green around the gills, he knew the two belonged with each other. Jethro fell hard for the temperamental, mercurial Guide.

 

When Tony arrived fresh from the Baltimore PD, Gibbs had lost all interest in his redhead of the moment. He fought valiantly against the attraction he had for Tony, but it was clear to Dr Donald Mallard from the beginning, that the fight was a losing proposition. There had never been a Sentinel and a Guide who more obviously complimented one another.

 

One week and DiNozzo was sunk into Gibbs worship. Two weeks and he was as close to Gibbs as the older agent would allow him to be. Three weeks, and Ducky had come upstairs to find Jethro to impart information about a case, only to find his desk unoccupied. Puzzled Ducky had wandered back into the area of the interrogation rooms. What he heard back there, through a door cracked open was enough to make him smile and blush.

 

After that there was no question that physically at least the two were bonded, together as Sentinel and Guide. Gibbs till rode Tony hard, teaching him every scrap of information and practical knowledge he possessed, but after work, they were just Sentinel and Guide. Though it really wasn't that simple of course. Tony was never just a Guide. He was some kind of mutant combination of Sentinel and Guide.

 

Throughout the years Tony had his brief encounters with women, male Guides would do that from time to time. But there had been no one who he was dedicated to but Gibbs. Jethro despite being a possessive bastard, had the good sense to acknowledge Tony's right to sleep with whom he pleased in an effort to sow his oats. He'd even hoped for children to result, so far that wish hadn't come true.

 

Stan coming back was enough to kick the possessiveness into high gear for about ten minutes, until Burley made it clear that while he was Alpha in his own right, he deferred to Gibbs. So Tony picking up the blond man and adding him to his bond wasn't a difficulty at all. Ducky had been amazed at the smooth way young Anthony had handled the whole situation. Not letting Gibbs suffer one moment of true jealousy or doubt of his place in Tony's life.

 

It was becoming pretty clear now that Jethro was grateful to have some help keeping DiNozzo satisfied and at home rather than out prowling. Tony was more than pleased with the arrangement even though he was now with two male Sentinels. He'd always thought he'd want one male and one female. But now...well things were working out better this way. And Tony was looking to make it a permanent bond between himself, Gibbs and Burley.

 

Ducky smiled affectionately as Tony managed to get McGee down on the bonding mat in the corner where the light was low. The Guide had his body wrapped around Tim much as Ziva had been wrapped around Abby. Not sexual, Ducky noted, but there was real affection, real friendship, caring. Stan had positioned himself in front of the mat, facing away from the men on it, and intent on not letting anyone disturb them.

 

Ducky quite approved.

 

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Jim Ellison had hit the front doors of the FBI Building going mach one. It was lucky that the Guardians knew he was coming before he arrived. The lobby was virtually deserted. They had cleared a Sentinel free path up to the bonding room where Blair was. Tiik and Rafe were not far behind, but both men lacked the insane gleam in Ellison's eye and his speed.

 

Not bothering to wait for the elevator, Ellison hit the stairwell taking the steps four at a time, bursting out into the empty corridor of the second floor and heading down the hall towards room 213a. He was following the scent and heartbeat of his Guide. Blair was waiting for him, with another Guide. No Sentinels around. He could accept another Guide if she didn't try to interfere.

 

Jim blasted into the room, door flying back to strike the wall, the handle embedding itself, and made for the long haired Guide who was settled onto the wide bonding mat, two mats pushed together, really, making a large surface. Blair had barely enough time to drop the article on pre-Colombian civilizations he was reading, before Jim was on him.

 

Vivian Johnson was startled out of her thoughts on the case that was coming together. Detective Jim Ellison was suddenly in the room, the door crashing open. He took a second to cast one chilling look her way, a look that froze her on her chair, stopping her greeting in her throat as surely as a garrote. Then he bounded the last few feet and was on Blair.

 

Clothing, or rather scraps of it, flew. Jim tore everything off the small body of his Guide. Then he dived in with all his senses to map Blair inch by inch. Blair reached for him, every bit as eagerly as the Sentinel himself. The room filled, inch by inch, like a jug being filled to the brim at the tap, sensation gushing in until it was full, over flowing. Blair clung to the bigger man.

 

Vivian saw what happened the clawing hands seeking to grasp, hold and pin the smaller Guide down, feeling as if it was happening to her when Blair's empathy filled the room. The sensation was erotic and purely animal, chokingly intense. Necessary to both Sentinel and Guide on the mat. But not wanted by the unwitting participant sitting unsteadily, close to toppling of her chair. Blair had told her, graphically what to expect, but she hadn't realized it would feel like this.

 

Threads of hunger seeped into the air, binding everything. Vivian found herself gasping, pressing her thighs tightly together, as if it could keep out the sensation of fingers touching her, slipping lower and lower and into her body. Her nipples were hard, sensitive, as Jim mouthed Blair's chest, his teeth scraping across tender skin. Tongue, hot and wet, playing a dance over wildly twitching nerves.

 

Blair held on, riding the sensation in a way the woman found she couldn't, didn't want to.

 

Vivian was getting as much of the feeling as the Guide it was being done to. And while Blair might welcome the touch, Viv did not. Her hands flew up to her chest to try to protect herself. It didn't help. Ellison's mouth may as well have wandered over her skin, her breasts, as he plundered Blair's. Wide, thick laps. More teeth, biting.

 

Jim's hands were hard, strong, demanding, fisting in Blair's long locks. Blair, if he'd resisted at all would be seriously harmed or hurt, his neck no more able to resist the force exerted than a fragile twig. He spread his thighs wide, exposing his body to whatever use his Sentinel wished to put it to. Jim took him. Just as if they were alone, as if she wasn't there at all.

 

And it was as if she were spread out. Luridly displayed. Horribly vulnerable.

 

Vivian moaned, real distress in her tone. Blair had taken the time to prepare himself for this, Vivian hadn't known at all what to expect. Blair had tried to tell her, tried to warn her off, but she had insisted that he couldn't wait alone. That she could handle it. Now she knew how wrong she'd been. Now she wanted out. She fell to her knees in front of the chair, her face against the floor, nails scratching at it.

 

She felt Blair's body accept the penetration, empty one instant, full, stretched the next. No one had ever touched her like that, not there. It was deep and fast. Blair let out a sound of pleasure, a groan that echoed softly. Vivian put her hands between her legs, cupping herself, trying to reject the feeling that it was her body being taken, filled, used.

 

The shaman merely surrendered to his Sentinel, welcomed him. He showed no fear, letting Jim have complete control of both their bodies. He rode the smaller man, deep strokes, two bodies arching frantically, smacking flesh into flesh. Hard, uncompromising. Brutal. Nothing like being loved. Vivian moaned her distress, the sound tangling with

Blair's cries of passion. The power of his need to serve his Sentinel was crushing her, violating her.

 

Viv was afraid. And not a lot scared her. She wasn't a stranger to the mechanics of male-male sex. But she had never seen it so close up. She had never felt as if it was being done to her body. Ellison put Blair on his back and drove right in. Blair's legs held his Sentinel to him from the first harsh thrust to the last sigh. It was over in less than five minutes of brutally direct thrusting.

 

Knowing intellectually that it had been a claiming not a love making, Vivian still found it hard to accept what had happened. She lay for a stunned instant as the twin orgasms rushed over her, far worse, her own body seized up in one all her own, her body moist and swollen with arousal. How such a coupling could do that to her, could bring her to a peak...to her it had looked and felt like an assault, start to finish.

 

A Sentinel attacking a Guide, not asking permission. A prosecutable assault. She wanted to get out of the room. She wanted to be anywhere but here and witnessing it. She didn't fool herself into believing it was over. Ellison wasn't going to be satisfied so easily. She got to her hands and knees.

 

She gained her feet, and the attention of the feral Sentinel on the bed, his insanely shining eyes fixed on her and he heaved his body up. Blair's arms and legs were around him hampering his movements long enough for Tiik and Rafe to get between her and Jim. The gorgeous, brown haired man's hand on her arm urging her out of the room.

 

The big black man, huge and muscular, was undressing, his skin gleaming with sweat, vast biceps bunching, panting as if he'd been running, which she realized he had been, ignoring her as she was shoved gently as possible out of the room and into the hall. The door slammed, locks engaging. And she was alone, shaking.

 

Slowly, with one hand planted on the wall she staggered towards the elevators. Never again would she be unable to understand why Specialists talked about BPS like it was a nuclear strike to Sentinels. She had seen it, she had seen a monster, not human. She had seen a rational man made mad.


	17. Chapter 17

Vivian Johnson snapped upright when the door to the conference room opened. She hadn't expected to see the members of the Cascade group make it downstairs today at all, yet here it was, barely eight a.m. and they were the first to put in an appearance. She hoped they wouldn't come, that they would make the choice to stay in their rooms. The last thing she wanted was to face any of them. But here they were.

 

Her eyes were immediately drawn to Blair. The Guide was uncharacteristically quiet, not chattering away. She fought to suppress the shudder that ran over her when she saw the Sentinels enter with him grouped tightly around him. There hands were on him. Touching him, containing him. As if he were prey. Trapped. cornered by predators. She fought down the urge to reach for her gun, just to touch the grip, to know, to reassure herself it was there. If she needed it.

 

Blair put a hand on Jim's arm, leaning in, his body language open to the bigger man, not reserved, not nervous. They all headed, en mass, for the table they seemed daily to prefer. Blair scooting up to sit on the table itself, Rafe behind him, reaching out and beginning to brush his long hair while Blair drew in a deep breath. The brush went smoothly through the thick, burnished copper curls, over and over, long sweeps, drawing all that silky wildness together into a tight, neat mass, that Rafe fastened with a cloth covered band. The Sentinel's hands deft, quick and precise. Blair leaned back, laughing up at Brian, who bent down, hovered, then kissed him with such sweetness, that Vivian thought she'd never seen a lie more sweetly told.

 

Vivian didn't understand it. How Blair could touch them, let them touch him? She felt dirty, violated. She'd felt the exact same things, sensations, Blair Sandburg had felt, why did he seem so normal? Happy?

 

As she stood there, watching, unable to avert her eyes, the Guide looked up, right into her own gaze.

 

His blue eyes were brilliant, as if lit from within. His expression was radiant even without the smallest hint of a smile. Serene as the Buddha. She had thought he would be afraid, but she was wrong. He was vibrant, alive, shining. It was all there in those incandescent blue eyes. As if the night past had been a good thing for him. As if it wasn't the violation Viv knew it to be. She had felt it. She knew it for what it was. So...how could it make the other Guide look like this?

 

Here he was, energized. Here he was, unhurt. As if he'd needed, or wanted what had been done to him. It was too much to comprehend. Viv stood up and made her way across the room. She couldn't look away from the indigo blue eyes. 

 

The Sentinels stood grouped close and Blair watched her as she came towards them, his face breaking out in a smile, his hand lifted and he gave her a shy little wave, his cheeks flushing. Oh, he knew, she realized. He knew. But they had him surrounded, corralled.

 

The Sentinels closed in tighter formation around Blair. Wary, protective. Shielding him from her direct approach, preventing any physical contact. The message was crystal clear, they didn't want her touching him. She firmed her resolve. If she was wrong that was one thing, but if she was right and if she didn't offer her help and he turned out to need it...she would not be able to live with it.

 

"Blair?" She called out to him from her position on the far side of the table. "Blair, I need to speak with you." She wasn't a Senior Guide who backed down in the face of uncooperative Sentinels. They could posture all they wished, she would still say her piece. She would still offer their Guide what help he needed. The help any victim deserved. She started around the table.

 

The Sentinels blocked her way. She looked up at them determination written in every muscle of her body. "I'm not backing off," She said to them, each of them taller than her, larger, stronger. None more determined, though. She would see this through. "Let me through. I will talk with him. You won't stop me."

 

Her hand involuntarily went back to her gun. She noted that all of them saw it, their eyes going flat. Their stances shifting like water, rapid, filling in all the spaces, impenetrable. Blair was swept off the table and behind all three bodies.

 

"Hey!" He exclaimed, struggling, waving his arms. "Wait!" But they were not listening to him, not when Vivian's hand was on her gun, whether or not the weapon was drawn. The Guide would be protected. Whether the Guide liked it or not.

 

Blair poked his head around Rafe's arm and looked at the other Guide. She could see one eye and a few wisps of hair, his forehead, a bit of cheek, that was all. "No, no, no. We aren't doing this. Let her through," He ordered, his voice holding a snap Vivian had not heard from him before. The Sentinels parted and closed in behind her.

 

She was enclosed, with Blair. Surrounded by Sentinels. She wanted out. Now. She stepped back, crashing into a massive chest. She forced herself not to scream. A hand came down, securing her own, keeping her gun in it's holster.

 

"Tiik." Blair voice was silky, "don't hurt her. She doesn't want to be touched."

 

Vivian let the big man move her hand off of her gun. Then he let her go, her wrist throbbed with the painful memory of his grip. Swallowing hard she focused all her attention on Sandburg.

 

"Blair we need to talk. Alone," She added when he tilted his head in a listening gesture. He frowned at her. What ever he was going to say was overridden by the deeper voice of his alpha Sentinel.

 

"That's not going to happen, Chief," Jim said, firmly, his tone reasonable. He directed his gaze at Vivian. "It's too dangerous to let him out of our sight. Not after the attack."

 

"The attack," Viv said glaring at the alpha Sentinel. "Yes that's what I want to talk to him about. You have BPS, you attacked him, he needs to talk to someone about it…alone." She saw the pain wash over his face. ~He knows what he's done,~ she thought, ~bastard. It can't be the first time.~

 

"No, Jim. That wasn't the attack, Vivian. Jim means the attack on Martin, in the restroom." Blair said. His arm went around the rigid Sentinel's waist. "We've talked about this. We made the decision." The tone held warning, and power. Vivian blinked, then Blair turned towards her.

 

"Vivian," Blair, said reaching out his free hand and stroking her, "I'm sorry you were there for what happened, you need counseling, please get it. Going through the BPS with us, it had to be upsetting. I know it was. Jim, Tiik Brian and I, we've gone through this before. We have it settled in our own way. It wasn't the same for me as it was for you. These are my bonded Sentinels. I love them. Look at me Vivian, do I look traumatized?" He stroked a hand up her cheek, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

 

"No, you don't but I was there I felt it. That was rape." To her horror the tears overflowed. "It was rape. Pain, power, domination. No consent was asked."

 

"No, it wasn't that, not for me. I have given my consent, I gave it a long time ago, the day I met Jim. But you...I am sorry you were there. After this meeting we will go to a claiming room and I'll give you what I felt." He was sad for her. She was trying to help him, and he...he was so sad for her, for what she had gone through. He wanted to hold her, to calm her fears, to give her peace. Healing. She jerked back, bumping into Tiik again. This time he steadied her. Letting his hands fall a second after assuring that she would stay on her feet.

 

"No! I'm not going through that again." Vivian said. "No. I can't stand to know that feeling again. I won't be assaulted, again."

 

"A healing, Vivian, I'm a shaman, I'll do a healing." Blair said. "I can even take the memory away if you want me to. Or make it a pleasant one, one that won't trouble you. Let me help."

 

"You're too weak after the claiming," Jim reminded him. "You need to rest."

 

"I can't rest knowing she is suffering this way, Jim. I need to do this." Blair insisted.

 

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The sight that greeted Jack when he walked into the briefing room was the last thing he expected to see. Vivian surrounded by the Cascade Sentinels, shoving at them. His eyes bulged.

 

"Get away from me. He is coming with me. Let him talk to me, alone." Vivian demanded, loudly. Jack winced as the strident tone hit his eardrums. Jesus, she was yelling.

 

"Now is not the time for this, Agent Johnson." The large Sentinel said, his voice soft, yet unflinching. He was a wall blocking her, his arms long and loose at his sides, coming up to intercept her blows but not striking back. His husband was no less unbending.

 

"You...after what you did to him, what you let happen to him, I am not surprised that you don't want me to talk to him." Her finger stabbed at them, at their faces, punctuating her rage.

 

The expressions on the faces of the two Cascade Sentinels Jack could see were anything but benevolent or understanding. Wariness was there, watchfulness. Distrust. And utter, ice cold control. Vivian reached back towards her hip. Jack knew that motion.

 

Jack dropped his armful of binders and ran.

 

"You do not know what you are speaking of." The softness of the delivery was more frightening than any shout. The big man's eyes met the much smaller woman's.

 

"I felt it. I know what it was." Was Vivian's chilly response. "Blair! Come with me, now."

 

The short Guide was shaking his head. "No. Vivian, please let me help. I can help you."

 

Danny popped up in the doorway, eyes zooming in on his running Alpha, then leapfrogging over to Vivian and the Cascade group. The degree of shock on his face was comical, but for the situation. Danny was quickly in the room, Martin's arm firmly in his grasp. An instant of indecision, and he put Martin up against the wall, holding up a cautionary hand, then took off after Jack.

 

Martin waited precisely one second before following. It was pretty clear to him that more Sentinels wasn't what was needed. More Guides, that was the answer.

 

Jack heard Viv demand to talk to Blair again. The tone rather than the words made it a challenge.

 

"What is going on here?" Jack asked, his voice not allowing for any waffling. He wanted answers. He stopped within a few feet of Viv, making the decision, a risky one, to take a step closer to the Sentinels than she was standing. He put himself between her and the visiting Sentinels. Losing the usual buffer of a Guide between territorial Sentinels wasn't ideal. In this case, he thought it the right thing, as Vivian was being anything but a buffer.

 

"What happened?" He asked.

 

"They raped him. The three of them." Vivian spat the accusation. pointing at them, sweeping her finger from face to face. "I want them arrested."

 

Jack stared at her, aghast. "What?!" He had to have heard it wrong. "That isn't the kind of accusation to throw around, Agent."

 

Danny skidded to a stop, close enough to help, or to escalate things, it remained to be seen. Jack put up a hand to keep him from getting any closer, feeling like a traffic guard. Danny scowled, but stopped. Martin skidded up behind him.

 

"No." It was Blair's voice, coming from behind the Sentinel wall. Then, "No, Jim, let me up. This isn't going to solve anything. They aren't going to shoot me, I promise."

 

Jack heard the unhappy growl from the muscular Sentinel, whose arm shot out, wrapping around his Guide and with obvious reluctance, drew him out from behind Rafe and Tiikanen.

 

"I was there. I felt it. I shared the whole thing with you as it happened. Your empathy..in the room, I felt what Ellison did, and when I was in the hall, I felt what these men," Vivian said, pointing at them again, "did to you."

 

"I was there, too. I tried to tell you, to warn you. It would have been best if you hadn't been there. But it wasn't rape." Blair said, his voice certain, seductively smooth. Tiik took a reluctant step to one side as Blair's hand appeared on his arm, tugging at him.

 

Blair squeezed the big arm. "It's OK, baby," he said soto voce. "I'll be fine."

 

"Did they drug you? Are you injured, Blair? Do you need a doctor?" Vivian reached for him. Blair held on to Tiik, rubbed his face along the dark brown skin. "Are you hurt in any way?"

 

"No. No, I am fine." Blair insisted, swaying, a graceful, slow motion that rubbed his whole body against his Sentinel's. Ellison appeared behind him, a hand going to rest on the Guide's belly.

 

Jack noted that Ellison's eyes...were odd.

 

"No, Jim. I'm fine. She isn't going to hurt me. I'm right here, big guy." Blair crooned, reaching out to his Sentinel.

 

"OK, I don't mean to get into any one's business here. But I need an explanation. And I need it now." Jack said, it was enough, standing here, not knowing what was going on. "Agent Taylor, lock the door, and don't let anyone in until we get to the bottom of this. Agent Fitzgerald, come here. Agent Johnson, please sit down. All of you. Sit. Right now."

 

"You are afraid to let him talk." Vivian accused as they sat, before Jack could open his mouth and ask his questions. "Afraid of the truth."

 

"No." Blair returned. "It's the BPS, the bonding. Damn it. It is private. Between Guide and Sentinel. Can't you people understand that?" It was the first time Jack had even heard the Guide's voice sound angry.

 

The Jim Ellison's face was like granite, his voice rusty. "I have BPS, as you know. I try not to share that information. For reasons that are obvious now, I think." He shot Vivian a challenging, suspicious glare. She returned it in full measure.

 

"Jesus," Jack thought. Martin scooted up next to him, laying an arm over his shoulders, radiating calm. Perhaps the only one in the room who was calm at this point. Jack took a moment to think as he listened.

 

"When I have an episode, I have no choice but to follow my instincts and rebond or there are consequences." Ellison didn't want to talk about his. And Jack didn't blame him. It was a fine line, seduction, sex and love, negotiated between Sentinel and Guide.

 

"That doesn't give you the right..." Vivian began through clenched teeth. Jack cut her off.

 

"Agent Johnson. Let Detective Ellison explain. You will get your chance to say what you need to say later. Go on, please." Jack said. "I'm sorry we have to intrude like this. But, well, I do trust Agent Johnson's instincts. I'd rather know I am doing the right thing. But we will not have any more hurling of accusations. We will discuss the problem. Rationally. Everyone get me?"

 

It was Jack's territory. His place. That made him the Alpha Sentinel of record. He made the rules. To a point.

 

Jack nodded to Ellison. "You first."

 

"I'm going to assume you haven't met anyone else with BPS, Malone. Enlighten me if I am just going to be boring you with all of this." Ellison waited, then when Jack didn't tell him to stop, he went on. "The only way I can describe BPS is...it's like being one person with two bodies. Our heart beat at the same moment, we breathe together, all of it, we are in perfect sync. I can feel him. His whole body, his soul. We are this close." He held up his hands fingers locked into one giant fist. "Someone touches him, I feel it. Someone frightens him, I feel it. Someone wants him....I know it. The feelings build, and build inside. The only thing that stops it, gets it back under control is claiming him, claiming my Guide all over again. And I will do anything on this Earth to do that."

 

"And I've agreed that Jim will do that. When his BPS is activated. We sat down, discussed it. When both of us were rational, we agreed. Then when Brian and Tiik came to us, we told them before they joined us. Full disclosure. No surprises." Blair took over the telling. "Jim is my mate. We are compatible on more levels than any other pair I've met, and I've met a hell of a lot of Guides and Sentinels. We met, we talked, we bonded. Boom. We discovered he had BPS, undiagnosed. Now I had a choice, I could have tried to break the bond, killed him, and maybe me, too. I don't know, I'm strong, I know that, I may have survived. But I wouldn't have wanted to." He put his hand out over his chest, long fingers spread. "He is here, he is my heart. He can't hurt me, not really. He is me as much as I am me. And there is no way you are going to understand it. How true that is. There aren't words to explain."

 

Jack waited. Then he turned to Vivian, when it was clear Blair was finished for now, and Ellison had already said more than he did most days he'd been in DC, already. " Your turn, Agent Johnson? What would you like to say?"

 

Her face was a study of confusion, and worry. Her brow furrowed. The moments passed. At last she said, "I was there, I felt it. I was raped. You were raped."

 

Blair leaned forward, came out of his chair, Jack's hand automatically going out to stop him, then pulling back. He noted the involuntary flinch of the three Cascade Sentinels, they wanted to go after Blair even more than Jack did. But they let him go. He knelt in front of Vivian. He took her hands.

 

"I know. I can't hold the empathy in when it happens. I'm sorry you felt it. For me it is powerful, joyous, primal, it grabs me and shakes me all the way down to my soul. For you.... For you, you were raped. And I did it to you. I never should have let you be there. I should have talked you out of it. I should have kept you out of it. I am so, so sorry." Blair held her hands in his own, looked up. "I know you can't forgive me. But, please let me help you."

 

Vivian, shook her head. "No. I can't let you in to my head again. Not even for that." She stood up and, head held high, walked to the door, unlocked it and left the room.


	18. Chapter 18

Jack felt the conflict tugging at him. He grit his teeth, his jaw flexing.

 

On one hand he wanted very badly to go after Vivian who was not only his friend but part of his team and a woman he admired and cared about. She was also a Guide in distress without her Sentinel, any Sentinel, by her side, and the Sentinel part of him screamed at him to follow and protect her, offer his comfort, and succor.

 

On the other hand, he was trying to coordinate the current operation to rescue the Guides who had been taken from around DC and shipped off to various corners of the country. The search and rescue was getting off the ground with a bang. The amount of intel was astonishing. Jack felt a reluctant admiration for his former agent Sam Spade. How had she, even with help, managed to block all this from reaching him?

 

Information, locations, times, sightings and other clues were pouring in from around the country now that there was no one to conceal or actively block the information from reaching Jack's investigative team. All of it was being funneled through Jack. It was his baby, in his lap now. His responsibility to see all of it done, the Guides rescued, their kidnappers taken into custody, where they would face a quick and stern justice. The last thing anyone wanted was a repeat in a few months or years by someone else who thought they could do it one better and not get caught.

 

The many Guides who needed saving won out, just barely, over going after Vivian immediately. Jack swung around and focused his mind. Vivian would be here in a few hours, he could see her then, talk to her, help her, if she would let him. The disappeared Guides the task group was after, if Jack wasn't on top of it, might vanish forever, never to be found, they needed him now, even more urgently than Vivian. He needed to co-ordinate agents in the field and fast, following up the leads as the Utopia members were interrogated.

 

In the back of the room, Doctor Blair Sandburg's Sentinels had closed in around him. Shielding him from eyes and the touch of outsiders while he collected himself after the scene just played out with Vivian. Blair was getting the attention he needed, comforting touches, murmured reassurances. But even in his case, knowing Blair had all the attention he did, Jack felt the urge to go to him and comfort him. To wrap his arms around the smaller, strangely strong, independent, yet vulnerable man and hold him against all who offered him hurt or harm.

 

Odd that he should feel such compulsion, Sandburg was not his true Guide. The depth of his feeling puzzled him, and if he wasn't needed, his attention under urgent demand, Jack would have spent more time analyzing why he felt as he did. He wondered if the powerful empathy of the younger man was telegraphing his distress subliminally. All the Sentinels in the room were on edge, moving restlessly, like a chill breeze was stirring through them. Creating a low grade worry, an anxiety and an urgency that added to the stressed environment of the command room.

 

Jack forced himself to concentrate on the task he was facing. Martin stepped up, resting his hands on Jack's shoulders from behind. The tension was immediately lessened, Jack could think, reason, concentrate without effort. His mind was crystal clear. Martin's long fingers gave a squeeze, pretty much a sweet, secret caress over Jack's collarbone, transmitting strength and focus as easily as if they had been together for ten years rather than closer to ten days. Jack dragged in a breath, reading the promise in that touch of Guide on Sentinel. Squared his shoulders, turning to face the room.

 

What he really wanted to do was to turn into the caress. Which was impossible for now.

 

"OK, people, listen up! We are going to get one shot at this, one chance to do it right. We've faced search and rescue operations like this before. Let's get the job done. When I pass off info, I need the research, the local maps and contacts with the local LEOs to be instantly available. I need all the history on the perps, ASAP. You know the drill. I know we can do this. Now lets get started." He turned back to the communications center, and flipped his headset switch to the "on" position.

 

"This is Team Leader Special Agent Jack Malone...." And it began. The FBI staff was good at this. They jumped into action, everyone sure of their job, their function, moving like a well oiled machine with a thousand moving parts, all in perfect unison. Jack was never more proud of them.

 

The smaller than usual NCIS group was a quiet, watchful, completely functional team, even with the worry of Abby's condition hanging over them. Burley, DiNozzo and Gibbs stood unsmiling, grim, waiting to be useful, listening to everything going on, all three heads tilted, even the big Guide's, hearing dialed in, Tony's large hands were wrapped around the wrists of the two men flanking him. When the time came that they were needed they moved as one being with one mind, one will.

 

Abby, Ziva and McGee remained at the hospital, where Ducky was liaising with the physicians caring for their injured member, making sure nothing was missed.

 

Jack bent forward, feeling the focus of Danny's attention shift to him, feeling his subordinate Sentinel, his junior, dial into him. Jack spoke into the headset he wore, communicating with the Sentinel Interrogation Teams. Then he flicked over to the tactical teams in the field. The hunt was on. Danny's thigh brushed Jack's elbow, he was that close.

 

"Mission One, Team One is a go. The address we are looking for is 62149 Cleveland, the Guide is a young female, strawberry-blonde hair, twenty -two years old. The information we have indicates it is likely she is pregnant, probably four months along at best estimate. She is to be approached cautiously and with extreme care. A Guide should accompany the Sentinel who initiates contact with her to decrease the trauma she will experience during her rescue."

 

It was the first rescue of the day, and all things being equal, it went well. If a screaming, crying, terrified, pregnant Guide would be called success. But she wasn't physically injured, and the Guide with Team One managed to calm her eventually and get her to a hospital under heavy guard in case there were members of Utopia still free and able to mount their own rescue op. Jack thought that it had to be called a success. Though her cries had torn at his heart. Martin's grip on his shoulders kept him in his chair, kept him on target.

 

After that things picked up rapidly as more teams arrived at the destinations revealed by the former Utopians who were being questioned, none too gently. Jack was grateful when Gibbs, then Burley stepped up and offered silent help, taking dangling headphones and putting them on. They were both former military men, who had served in live combat situations and both knew how to direct a team in the field under action. DiNozzo shot a longing look at one of the free headsets, but chose to put himself between his two Sentinels and placed a hand at each man's back, keeping them dialed in, locked on target.

 

Jack had to admit that the rather impressive Sentinel characteristics Tony possessed paled when compared to his gifts as a Guide. Tony was seated on the floor, with a hand on Stan's low back, snaked up under his shirt, he had his face resting against Gibbs' leg, his other hand spread big and wide on Gibbs' mid back. His lips moved constantly, murmuring, grounding them with his touch and his voice. His fingers caressing, his cheek rubbing.

 

Ellison and Tiik joined in directing the multiple rescue attempts. Rafe sat with Blair, holding the Guide in his arms, seated between Rafe's spread thighs, also on the floor, Blair placing a hand on Tiik and on Jim as they concentrated on the flow of information. The big Sentinels slipping with frightening ease into the training each had had drilled into him in special forces years before. Blair's face was wet with tears, but he was focused and on the job, jaw set. Rafe had his face buried in Blair's neck, his arms holding him, his body acting a barrier between Blair and the other agents running behind them.

 

Jack felt Martin move up even closer to him, his hands creeping around Jack's chest as he felt the level of tension rise. Martin popped the top few buttons of Jack's shirt, touched his belly under his shirt, bending forward, tentatively at first, then with greater confidence, opening his hands and pressing them to Jack's center, waves of calm strength radiating from him. Danny was coordinating with the rest of the FBI staff while Jack and the other task force Sentinels ran the field ops, putting himself between Jack, Martin and the others.

 

Jack was distantly aware of Danny returning time after time to make contact with Martin, brief little brushes of hands on body, to ground himself. Jack was almost overwhelmed with pride at how well his new bond was working as the rescue moved forward.

 

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Sam Spade's lawyer had sent Elena out of the room wanting to talk confidentially with his client.

 

Elena was grateful for the break. She had been spending all her working hours, as well as overtime, watching Sam. Being with the other woman, as she came to realize what Sam had done, Elena found herself repelled. She wanted little more than to get away from her former team mate, and she wasn't wasting a minute of the respite.

 

Elena wasn't bonded, and being around Sam all these hours of all these days meant she had no contact with the FBI Guides who weren't formally bonded. No Guides were brought into contact with Spade.

 

Elena was missing that incedental contact. The little brushes as they passed by, the scents, the sounds of Guide heartbeats sounding soothingly in her ears. She craved all the little things, in fact she was seriously jonesing for a Guide, any Guide in the worse way, just to be in the same room with one. Her skin itched. He ears were ringing. Her mouth had a bad taste in it. Her nostrils flared, searching for a single molecule of the scent of a Guide. She was desperate, aching, unsatisfied, hurting.

 

She was taking advantage of the temporary freedom being kicked out of the room afforded her. She headed towards the women's break room on the second floor. Her back was stiff, she needed to pee, and she was in serious need of a cup of good, hot coffee. Or at least something stronger than the wimpy brew available in the detention ward. The chairs there were worse than the coffee, it was going to take hours to work the kinks out of her spine.

 

The break room was blessedly empty. Elena headed for one of the stalls and did her business there. Then she washed her hands, and her face, not caring if her makeup went with it. She needed the wake up. She needed to think of the best place to go to be around a Guide or two, just for a while, a few minutes, to vicariously pick up on their soothing scents, sounds and presence. Just a tiny bit of it all. She really was in need. She hated to admit it, but when Sam was with Martin, at least Elena could count on being around him, feeling his proximity. She hadn't been properly grateful. Now she knew what she had had.

 

Coffee was next. She had just poured the cup when the door opened again. It was Vivian Johnson. Elena started to smile. Then she saw the expression on the older woman's face, the pain not hidden at all in those dark eyes. The coffee was forgotten, untasted, set on the counter to cool unattended. She hurried across the room.

 

"Viv? What is wrong? Has something happened?" She asked urgently. Afraid to touch the other woman who was visibly trembling. The scent, warm, sweet, musky filled her nostrils. She inhaled deeply one second before the scent of pain, of anguish hit her olfactory awareness.

 

Bad smells, wrong smells, panic, fear, hurt. Elena slapped a hand up to cover her mouth as the smells hit her all at once. "Oh, shit!" She said, stomach roiling. She was going to throw up. She looked at Viv, expecting anger, defiance, Vivian was a strong person, self-reliant. She had stood up to mass murders, child molesters, perps who pointed guns at her, fully intending to blast a hole in her. Vivian was strong. Elena had never seen her anything but.

 

The last thing she expected was Vivian bursting into tears.

 

Shocked she put her arms around the other woman, carefully, using her acute senses to assure herself the contact was welcome. Vivian made no protest, though she struggled with her composure, obviously not pleased to be caught in such an emotionally vulnerable state. But she didn't object to the comfort Elena was offering. So Elena held on. Let the smell of salt and bitterness fill her. She wasn't happy Vivian was hurt, but to hold her, to have that chance, any chance to hold her, comfort her....Elena closed her eyes and inhaled. She wouldn't waste a single moment of the experience.

 

Giving in to the nearly overwhelming need to comfort, Elena lost the fight to stifle the soothing croon rising up in her throat. She rocked the smaller woman in her arms. The Guide. It was wonderful to hold a Guide. She kept her embrace warm, protective and reassuring, her hands moving in small circles on Vivian's back. She liked the feel of it, of being able to offer her help to a Guide. Her nose found it's way into the kinky hair behind Vivian's ear. She inhaled. Her mouth found the slightly damp bit of neck beneath her cheek. Her tongue darted out, licked the wetness, tasted. Jeeeesussssssssss. It was heaven. Viv tasted like heaven.

 

Vivian turned into her arms after several minutes and it was no longer just Elena holding her. Vivian was holding her just as hard, her arms with a new determination, her face pressed to Elena's shoulder. Vivian's arms held on with desperate strength, the sobs ragged, her body shaking in distress. She gulped in air.

 

The hair all over Elena's body stood on end. Something terrible had happened. And something wonderful. She was holding a Guide. Warm, real. Softness over hard muscle. Full round breasts. Rounded thighs against her own, leaner ones. Elena held on for all she was worth.

 

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Jack, during a lull in the action of less than a minute, called over his secretary Joshua. Joshua bent down. Jack's lips brushing his ear as he whispered, trying not to advertise his request to nearby Sentinels who had their hearing dialed up and further sharpened by surging adrenaline. Jack wasn't surprised to feel Martin stiffen in outrage at the apparently intimate moment. Martin's arms tightened. Jack sighed inwardly. But he felt a glowing area of warmth in his heart.

 

"Send someone to locate Agent Johnson. Just locate, don't interfere if she is busy." Jack ordered Joshua, then turned his face into Martin's for the brief moment's respite left him. Martin's stiff posture eased. His body softened against Jack's, folding around him like a soft, familiar cloak. Jack was flattered that Martin thought he was attractive enough that other men would want him. But the truth was, Martin and Danny were all Jack needed, and he hoped, not too much for him to handle.

 

"Yes, Sir." Joshua's tone showed he had not missed the body language. He sounded like he was grinning at Jack's dilemma as he moved off. Jack snorted.

 

Then his headset let out a beep and he was back into the fray as another Guide's location was tracked down. As troops gathered, guns were checked, hearts pumping, fists tightening on weapons, muscles tensed, flexing. Trembling on the act of springing into a run. Thrusting against the ground, rising up out of a crouch, moving, moving...in..... One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three- one......

 

Then Jack gave the go.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack removed his headset and rubbed tired eyes. Martin had stepped away to get the three of them a cup of coffee each and something to eat. Jack would rather have a nice warm bed, but he had a few things to see to before he could leave. One of which was finding Viv. He hadn't seen her return to the command center, and that worried him. She was a dedicated agent.

 

The rescue was done, wrapped up and tied with a bow, at least the part that could be done. There were two Guides unaccounted for, they hadn't been where the intel said they would be. Only signs of a hasty move. They weren't going to be found today, probably not tomorrow, either…That part of the operation was going to take months, if Jack was any judge of those kinds of things. Finding eight was more of a boon than he'd hoped for once he discovered the kind of people he was dealing with, and the resources they had to tap into.

 

Prosecuting the criminals, the kind with endless cash and friends in high places, was going to take time and lots of money. Huge piles of it. If the public will had been less for justice in this case, Jack would have his doubts that a prosecution would carry through to the end at all. There would have been plea bargains. But not in this instance. The rage of the public was too great. There had to be examples made. And the Sentinel Council, their nuts pulled out of the fire by the rescue of most of the Guides, was going to see that everyone involved, everyone captured with a Guide in their possession got the maximum.

 

Martin returned, handing a steaming cup to Jack and one to Danny. Danny was sprawled in a chair, his feet up on the counter, his head lolling on the back of the chair. He barely raised his hand high enough to take the drink. Jack could read the lines of exhaustion carved into his face.

 

"Sorry, no food left." Martin said, settling his hip against Jack's desk. "If you want to eat, we are going to have to go downstairs, or out." Which wasn't too much of a shock. Jack knew without checking his watch that the operation had taken hours. He sipped his cup, welcoming the burn across his tongue. Jack let his eyes wander over Danny's slumped form.

 

Being young wasn't all good. Danny hadn't learned yet how to pace himself. He let his adrenaline peak, and he ran with it all jittery and high, until it was exhausted. Then he dropped like a stone, barely able to find the energy to breathe, let alone do anything else. He needed to get to bed and sleep. If he was going to be eating any time soon, they were going to have to bring the food to him. 

 

Jack took the cup from Danny and looked over at his Guide. Martin, too, looked wrung out. He wasn't even trying to drink the coffee he held. A fine tremor had seized his hand, Jack could see the steaming liquid in his untouched cup tremor. Like Danny he was sitting, his cheeks on top of the desk Jack had been using, staring into nothing. Jack set his own cup aside. He leaned forward. He would debrief later. Just now he wanted to get them both horizontal somewhere quiet.

 

Then he saw his secretary approaching, an odd look on his face. Jack found himself trying to analyze the look, feeling a strange frisson of alarm.

 

Joshua bent down and whispered into Jack's ear. Jack was aware of the heat of his skin before he registered the words. He had to turn and look at the young man to see if he was overreacting after the rescue, or if his senses were telling him the truth. A look confirmed that, yes, Joshua was flushed. Then the words he relayed made sense.

 

Elena. Vivian. Women's break room. A glimpse of a lacy bra.... Joshua had walked in and found them together when no one answered his knock, he had been concerned, he had heard enough through the door to know that someone had been in the break room. But not answering him. Joshua was now both embarrassed and titillated. Jack could smell the arousal on him. Jack smothered his grin, biting his lip. He reached out, patted the man's arm to show his understanding and thanks.

 

"Thank you for finding them, Josh." He said.

 

"I didn't mean to walk in on them." Joshua said. "I'd never invade their privacy like that. Not on purpose."

 

"I am sure that is true. Please don't worry about it." Jack said, making comforting sounds.

 

Jack stopped listening after that. He could guess at the rest. A stressed Guide. A Sentinel nearby, unbonded. That was all it would take. He hoped that they found they were compatible for more than a little comforting. Having another solid bond on his team would only increase the team's overall efficiency and make Elena and Viv's lives better. And Viv's husband, if he played his cards right might just luck out, twice.

 

Martin interposed his body between Jack and his fleeing secretary. Joshua could use a little time to compose himself. Jack smiled lifting his eyes to Martin's. Martin wasn't smiling at all. He was glaring, his jaw tight. His eyes so weary, yet unable to hide the anger. He was jealous. Possessive. Jack was reminded of the same thing happening during the op. If only Martin knew how ridiculous it was to be jealous, especially of Joshua.

 

Martin swayed then, and Jack rose to his feet. His arm going around Martin's waist. Martin leaned into him.

 

"All right you two." He reached over and helped the jelly legged younger Sentinel to stand. "We are going to find a suite upstairs and rest. No arguments. The rest of the team can handle mop up and the preliminary reports. We are taking a power nap." He made no effort to hide his smile. He had a Guide and a junior Sentinel to take that nap with. And he had never been more grateful.

 

He steered them through the only slightly decreased chaos, it was quieter at least, if no less busy, and out of the door an arm around each of the men with him. They leaned on him, their footsteps stumbling just a little.

 

Twenty minutes later, Jack hung up Danny's suit. He'd undressed both of them down to their underwear. Like drowsy children they had let him handle them. Tuck them into the wide bed, draw blankets up to their necks. Both wore briefs. He was a boxers man himself.

 

They were gorgeous, the two of them. Tousled hair, snoring lightly. Warm and asleep. Jack wondered if anything was more moving than the trust they were showing him. Trusting him to take care of them. He couldn't believe his luck. He crawled into bed, making sure to take the place between Danny and the door. Danny was limp, malleable. He melted along Jack's body where they touched. Heavy and deeply asleep. Martin was up against the wall, two sentinels between him and any kind of attack. Jack reached over and ran a hand over the dark, wavy hair.

 

Then, gun on the nightstand next to the bed, he settled down to sleep.

 

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Tim McGee looked up when Ducky came back into the room after having taken a phone call at the nursing desk. Ziva and Abby were asleep in the extra wide hospital bed. The mattress was wide enough for three adults. Tim knew that for sure because he'd slept there, next to Abby and Ziva, until an hour ago when he woke. His arms had been long enough to hold both of them. And he had even in sleep.

 

Ducky had urged him to wash up, a wrinkle of his nose telling Tim why it was important he do so. The Sentinel had had all his senses dialed into Abby, his Guide, and hadn't paid the slightest attention to himself, or how he smelled. Which was rather ripe. He hurried into the shower.

 

Washed, combed and re-dressed in something clean, Tim McGee felt almost alive again. If only Abby was awake and talking, joking with him, with them. Seeing her so quiet was unnatural. Against all the laws of god and man. She shouldn't be laying in bed. Asleep, or maybe in a half-coma if what Tim had understood was true. Her skin, even for Abs, was unnaturally pale. Tim jumped when Ducky placed a hand on his elbow.

 

"Come, Timothy. Breakfast awaits, or at least some form of nourishment, "cafeteria food" being very close to an oxymoron, you know. I have some news for you. Good news for once." Ducky led him out of the glass walled room.

 

They passed down a long corridor then took the elevator down. Getting out they strolled, Ducky's hand tucked firmly in the crook of Tim's arm. Tim smelled food. Delicious, greasy, hot food. His mouth began to water. His stomach let out a loud, embarrassing growl. Suddenly it wasn't Ducky leading the way, Tim's longer legs stretched out, hurrying the small doctor along. Ducky was pleased to see that the Sentinel's appetite had returned.

 

Then something caught Tim's eye and his stride faltered. Ducky felt the awareness go through him. A pair of hulking Guardian Sentinels. Tim stopped in his tracks. His senses were on full alert. Ducky sighed. This could get ugly, he knew. He gave an experimental tug at the younger man's arm. Tim didn't seem to notice, and he didn't budge.

 

In the glass enclosed room sat the author of all this trouble, reading a newspaper as if he hadn't a care in the world. The look of contented satisfaction on his face couldn't be misinterpreted. The man behind the Guides vanishing. Behind Abby being taken, wounded, and still gravely ill. Behind Tony being injured, gassed. Tim's sight zeroed in on the man who was sitting in his chair at the side of the bed, foot propped up on a damask upholstered ottoman.

 

Rage flooded Tim McGee. His blood pressure rose, his muscles flexed, his breathing increased, his pulse thundered and he leapt. He headed towards the man who was to blame for all of the trouble, all of it. Ducky was dragged along behind him, stubbornly clinging like a limpet, determined to go along for the ride even if he couldn't really stop the young man. At least Tim hadn't access to his gun.

 

"Stop! Timothy! Stop!" Ducky was shouting out, there was a remote chance McGee would hear him through his focus on Fitzgerald. Ducky was holding on as tenaciously as he could. The two huge Guardians watched the infuriated Sentinel come barreling down the hall. Ducky saw them tense and move to intercept.

 

"Gentlemen,” Ducky said, with surprising calm, even while being jostled. "I would appreciate a little gentle assistance. This is NCIS Agent McGee, his Guide is upstairs in Intensive care."

 

That information changed the stance of both the Guardians. They understood Tim's feelings, and they sympathized. They would use the minimum force needed to stop him. Though the expressions Ducky could read showed that both also considered not trying to stop him at all.

 

The Guardian nearest them stepped forward and caught McGee by the upper arms, holding him as he raged and fought to get free and take a one way trip through the glass. He itched to get his hands around that scrawny neck. He took a swipe at the glass wall, just missing the plate.

 

Inside the room Victor Fitzgerald had gained his feet, standing on his injured foot awkwardly, with an expression of pure alarm. There was no question he knew who was heading for him and why. He stumbled backwards, tripping and falling onto the bed, before scrambling around so he didn't lose sight of the windmilling McGee. Victor tumbled off the far side of the bed, hitting the floor, a shock of agony rushing through him as his foot struck the floor. He screamed, seizing his foot, hiding, only the top of his head and his eyes visible from outside the room.

 

"Bloody coward." Ducky muttered, still fastened onto Tim's right arm. Tim managed a kick at the glass, it shuddered and Ducky was sure for one long, breathtaking instant it would break. But it held, and the second Guardian moved in.

 

Tim finally quieted when the second Sentinel took hold of him, trapping him between the two big bodies. He accepted after several minutes of vigorous struggling that there was no way he was going to fight his way free of them. At last, he hung in their grip, limp but filled with a poisonous rage, his eyes narrowed, fixed on the cowering man in the glass cage.

 

Ducky soothed, patting him. "Yes, the bastard is sweating, my dear. We'll get him, don't you worry, Timothy. Don't worry, he's been caught red-handed, in the proverbial cookie jar." He stroked Tim's hand. "However, I find myself in desperate need of a cup of tea and something to put inside me." Ducky patted his belly. "I am absolutely famished. Come along now."

 

Gradually he managed to coax the other man back down the hall towards the cafeteria. Tim was fuming and straining against Ducky's hold. But he was also blessedly reluctant to do any harm to the older man. So, grudgingly looking over his shoulder at the man he wanted to rip limb from limb, he allowed Ducky, chatting amiably, to lead him on.


	20. Chapter 20

  
Author's notes: Martin is ready. Elena helps Viv. Victor taps into his resources  


* * *

Hard and narrow beds, made with scratchy sheets and thin blankets, as well as people slamming in and out of lockers at all hours was was the norm for the institutional quality FBI beds reserved for agents who couldn't make it home.

 

Martin didn't hear any noise, no slamming and banging of metal doors. And he was rested.

 

The bigger surprise was that he felt good. He was warm and comfortable, without any of the expected stiffness or aches that usually accompanied the morning after sleeping on one of those FBI respite beds.

 

Yes, he definitely felt good and that was weird.

 

He rolled onto his back. Or tried to. He ended partly on top of another body that was snuggled up to his back. His first befuddled thought was Sam. He went rigid and unmoving, praying she wouldn't wake up, until something pressed into his side that made it physically impossible for the body to be Sam's. And his memory of the last day flooded back to him. His relief was profound.

 

The rescue. The missing, kidnapped Guides being found, physically unhurt if emotionally traumatized. Only two still missing, presumed alive.

 

Martin felt a wave of relief. It was Danny, not Sam pressed against him. Danny, lean and stirring like he was coming up to consciousness. Martin craned his head a bit. Jack was on his other side, head half hidden by a pillow, his arms raised over his head as he sprawled over the space next to Martin. Asleep, sheet-creases on his face, his hair rumpled. Martin remembered that he had started next to the wall, two protective Sentinels between him and the door. Now he lay between them, cradled by their bodies.

 

Martin lost the fight to hold in his grin. Jack looked so...cute. He squirmed over to rest on his back then squirmed more until he could reach over and touch Jack easily, running fingers through that mop of mostly dark hair.

 

Danny's arms stole around him, around his waist and his torso, snuggling close. Danny murmured a low and pleased sound as he buried his nose in the back of Martin's neck. Danny snuffled a stream of air over Martin's throat, a tingly rush of sensation following in it's wake.

 

Martin smoothed down Jack's hair. There was grey in the dark cap, more than he remembered when he'd started. Jack wasn't young, he was about fifty, wasn't he? He was still strong and agile for a man his age. He was also experienced and smart. He'd risen to his position as head of his team because he was good, tough, and competent.

 

And now he was Martin's Sentinel. The first one that Martin was happy to be paired with. The first one he'd felt he had any choice about. The first one he hadn't been traded to.

 

Danny nuzzled him, tilting Martin over to lay supine, placing his open mouth over the pulse in Martin's neck and ever so gently sucking. Martin groaned. He was aware of the flat press of Danny's tongue as it pushed down, lapped at the pulse. His pelvis melted in a slow release of tension, went hot and liquid. He looped a leg over Danny's hip as he lay on his back. Felt Danny, long and hard through both their shorts sliding up and down against the side of his thigh.

 

Martin felt a hot flush cover his entire body.

 

Danny made a movement, as if trying to get impossibly closer, his leg coming up under Martin's raised one. He bit down, not breaking the skin, worrying gently at Martin's throat. his whole body thrumming with banked arousal.

 

Jack was awake by then, watching them. The indulgent smile warmed Martin all the way through.

 

Jack moved in behind Martin, leaning up on his elbow, watching as Danny touched him. Jack's calloused palms skimmed over Martin's belly as Danny kissed his near shoulder, nibbling. Then he stilled, just holding Martin. Just letting him rest against the front of Jack's body.

 

Jack ruffled his hand through Martin's hair, rubbing down his neck and across his chest and abdomen, in a rough, affectionate caress. Then he moved on to massage his way down his arm, spreading the slender fingers with his own thicker more powerful ones. Martin sighed, stretching into the movement. Letting Jack lift his hand, place a tender kiss at the base of his thumb. Jack's mouth opened, tasted Martin's hand, his thumb, licking over the pad of it. Drawing it into his mouth. Letting the digit rest on his tongue a moment before he suckled it.

 

"Oh, god." Martin groaned, his head dropping back onto the crumpled pillow. "That is so good." He said, closing his eyes halfway. "Jack!"

 

Danny found a nipple under Martin's t-shirt and petted at it lazily, toying with the hardening bud, his eyes bright, observant, his attention on Jack, whose lips were fitted around Martin's thumb, cheeks hollowed. Danny licked his lips hungrily. Martin trembled, felt the blood sing through his body, pooling gradually, ever so gradually in his groin, his balls drawing up, close and tight. Martin slid his leg higher, until the back of his knee was hooked over Danny's waist. Danny wasted no time putting his hand down there, to the newly exposed heat, holding the blood heavy flesh through the thin cotton of his shorts. Squeezing. Feeling his Guide writhe in a languid, surging wave.

 

"Please." Martin heard himself say, breathless, quivering. "Don't stop this time."

 

"Don't stop what?" Jack asked cautiously, Danny's hand pausing on Martin's belly, fingers making tiny circles on the lightly haired skin as he sought the elastic waistband.

 

"Touching me." Martin said, knowing he meant far more than that. "Don't stop touching me."

 

Danny hummed against his chest, his tongue licking, lips kissing. His hand burrowed in under the fabric of Martin's briefs, molding to his genitals, cupping them. Martin felt another wave of heat as his balls were carefully compressed, to the edge of bearing, just that far, no further, this wash of sensation so profound he couldn't think or speak until it had passed. His vision going scarlet. Hot. He moaned, refocused on Jack's face, so stern, concerned.

 

"Stop." Jack said. "Right now." Jack ordered. He was sitting up. His hand went out and gripped Danny's arm.

 

Danny stopped and lifted his head, pupils dilated, hiding the color of his irises. Martin felt the one finger touching him, grazing the heat of his ass, almost there. Almost inside.

 

Jack's voice was soft, trying to recall him. "Martin. If you are saying what I think you are. That you want us to make love to you, for Danny and I to be inside you, then we are not doing that here." Jack said flatly. "It's too important."

 

"Yes, Sentinel." Martin agreed, breathlessly. Jack's dark eyes pinned him. Danny's unmoving hand was holding him, reluctant to move away. Martin bit his lip. Answered his Sentinel more fully, not wanting any mistaken assumptions. "It is what I want. I'm ready."

 

Jack pulled Danny's hand away.

 

 

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Blair looked out over the room. He didn't want to leave anything behind by mistake. As far as he could tell he was completely packed. One other suitcase lay on the floor along side the door, Rafe's massive, Armani-approved case. Next to it were two large, durable camouflage duffels. Jim and Tiik had never broken the habit of duffels rather than luggage.

 

Back in Cascade, Blair had seized his ubiquitous backpack when the call had come for this working trip to the District, dumping out the usual school supplies, only to have Rafe present him with a suitcase slightly smaller than the one the dark eyed man was using himself. Blair had found for once the challenge of packing to be finding enough things to go into the suitcase, rather than whittling the necessities to the bare minimum so it would fit into his much more compact pack. A laptop took up a lot of room in a backpack.

 

Tiik had grinned at him that day, flashing brilliant white teeth, when he hefted the case, curling his bicep to raise it off the ground, doing a few more reps after the first. His fine, black brows raised with loving amusement when Blair flushed, grumbling something along the lines of "show off" under his breath. Blair had, in the end, added a few books to fill the extra space. Books he had been about to reluctantly remove after trying to lift the case himself. Tiik swooping down and lifting the bag with one hand and comic ease had forestalled that repacking plan.

 

Now, though, Blair felt no such light hearted amusement as he had on packing to come to Washington. He felt the ache of leaving behind pain instead of joy. He had hurt Agent Johnson. Without meaning to certainly, and when he thought of it, there had been nothing else he could have done. Refusing Jim while the big man was in the throes of BPS, until Blair could make the woman see sense, was not an option. Really, aside from demanding she be physically removed, there wasn't anything he could have done differently.

 

Sighing, Blair sat on the bed. He still felt bad. He hated to leave the situation before feeling he had done all he could. She wouldn't let him near her. He had offered healing, even forgetfulness. Just to talk. And she had refused. What else could he do? It was out of his hands now.

 

Tiik was suddenly standing next to him. Blair startled, then looked at the object the Sentinel was offering him. A cell phone. He frowned. He wasn't expecting a call. The only really important person he'd wanted to say goodbye to, Ducky, had been spoken to, their farewells and promises to visit exchanged along with email addresses.

 

"Hello?" Blair said into the receiver. "This is Dr Blair Sandburg." Tiik stayed next to him, sitting on the bed without a word, shamelessly eavesdropping. He turned Blair and ran his fingers through the unruly curls of Blair's hair. Patiently he began to work the tangles out, winding the lengthy curls around his wrists and hands.

 

"Dr Sandburg, this is Special Agent Vivian Johnson." Of all the people Blair had guessed would call him, she was the last. He was momentarily too surprised to speak. Then he managed to croak out a response.

 

"Yes, Agent Johnson?" Blair put the question in his tone. He wasn't about to assume the call had anything to do with what had happened between them. Far more likely she was calling to wrap up some loose end in the Guide case. "Jim and Rafe aren't here." He told her. She probably wanted Jim.

 

"That is fine Blair, I am not calling to speak to them. I wanted to clear the air between us before you left. I understand that you will be leaving today. To return to Cascade." She trailed off a little to give him time to confirm.

 

"Yes, we will. Uh, we are. Leaving, today. This afternoon." Blair said lamely. Then he shook his head and forced himself to get over his surprise. He listened attentively to her when her even contralto resumed.

 

"I just want you to know I don't blame you for what happened. I know you had no other avenues open to you. I actually put you in a no win position because I thought I understood the dynamics of a situation I had no real comprehension of how to handle. I didn't back off when you told me to. It wasn't your fault." The woman's tone was steady, strong. Not distressed. "I am also going to take your advice and seek counseling. You are right about that, too, I can't do this alone."

 

"I have time before we leave," Blair offered, feeling compelled to do what he could to help. "If you'd like to talk. I want you to know that you don't have to be afraid of it happening again. There are only a handful of Shamans in North America, and they are not likely to come in contact with you. One is a tribal Guide in New Mexico. Another is in Canada, she never leaves Ontario. Then there is one in Southwest Arizona, also a tribal Guide. And then there is me. I guess of all of us, I am the most likely to run into you again. But if that happens we'll both be prepared." He petered out.

 

"No, thank you, Dr Sandburg. I think that a therapist who has less intimate knowledge of the event will be easier. Don't you?" She waited for a few moments. "I just wanted you to know I don't hold it against you. You had to do what you needed to for your Sentinel. As for working together, maybe in the future. I think I'd like that. I was impressed by you, Blair. The little episode we had didn't change that. It was just...a shock."

 

"Hmmm, thank you?" Blair would have felt better if he could do more for her. "And yes, it was a shock. I can honestly say it was for me, too. Good luck, Agent Johnson. I really hope you do well. Please don't hesitate to call if I can help."

 

"Good-bye Doctor." The farewell was soft. Then he was listening to the dial tone. He stared a the phone, feeling a sense of relief coupled with confusion. The call had come so unexpectedly. And was over so quickly. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

The phone rang shrilly in his hand, he jumped, gaping at it. Then he depressed the button and held it to his ear, hoping it was Vivian again and that she had changed her mind, that she was ready to talk more.

 

"Hello, Agent Johnson?" He greeted, warily though he tried to force welcome into his words.

 

"Blair, why is she calling you?" Jim asked suspiciously over the line. He hadn't gotten past the feeling the woman was to blame for his Guide's depressed mood. Blair's normally bubbly personality was absent. That brought out all of Jim's protective instincts.

 

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"Victor!" The impeccably tailored man slid into the glass hospital room, pointedly ignoring the Guardians to either side of the entrance.

 

"There is good news on the legal front. I think you will be pleased." The attorney spread a napkin over the seat of a padded chair then settled into it. He opened his briefcase. His smile was gloating, replete, he reminded Victor of a silk encased sausage for all the money his suit had cost.

 

The man took out a neatly stapled sheaf of paper.

 

"Good morning," Victor offered a little sourly. He remained furious over the scare he'd had yesterday, that large, barbarian Sentinel threatening him, actually getting close enough to touch the glass. If the glass had shattered, Victor might have been seriously injured. As it was his foot had been re injured, twisted painfully when he'd had to save himself. The Guardians had been entirely ineffective. It was inexcusable. Something had to be done.

 

"Coffee?" Victor offered, belatedly. The lawyer pursed his mouth in distaste.

 

"Thank you, no. Wreaks havoc on my ulcer. Chocolate, caffeine. Carbonation. Acid. Tomatoes, citrus." Victor tried to look interested. The lawyer passed the papers over to him. "This is an order permitting you to go home and convalescence at your own residence. The unwarranted attack on you last night was instrumental in convincing the judge you are not safe here. Security is too lax. You are being placed at an unacceptable risk by remaining here. So, as soon as you pack up, it's home for you."

 

"Excellent! I am pleased indeed. I am not to proud to tell you how alarmed I was when that animal tried to attack me. Home is exactly where I belong. Not caged up like a criminal."

 

"And I, Victor, am pleased that you are pleased. But, don't celebrate yet. That is merely the beginning. Here."

 

A second pile of papers, slightly larger than the first materialized from the case. They were handed over with a dramatic flourish. 

 

"And these are....?" Victor asked.

 

"The beginnings of a judicial dismissal of the charges laid against you. The case you filed against Jack Malone is key here. The judge agreed to review the case in light of the inherent prejudice the case generates in Malone. Malone who arguably set you up to be found in that restroom, at the same time the attempted kidnapping was going down. An event that you had no knowledge of." The man's teeth reminded Victor of a hungry shark.

 

"So...how are the chances for a full dismissal?" He ventured the query.

 

"Victor, my friend, there is no way we can miss. Malone won't have a chance to make his pathetic case stick. Your son didn't see a thing. That Sandburg boy is leaving on a plane this afternoon, he won't be served to appear until his flight is in the air, and then it will be too late. Besides, he shot you when you were just about to come to the aid of your injured son."

 

"The judge will blame the prosecution for failing to get Sandburg to the courthouse. As for that old man who plays at being a Medical Examiner...his colleague, Ms Abigail Scuito, the Guide who suffered that most unfortunate head injury earlier in the week, is scheduled to undergo a craniotomy to relieve the pressure on her brain and to evacuate a few clots." There was a tone of bloodthirsty glee in the man's oily smooth voice.

 

"I've checked into the timing and managed to get the grand jury testimony scheduled for the same time. Dr Mallard will be scrubbed in and observing the surgery. I also took the liberty of offering the clerk a small bribe to see his summons also is delayed. Mallard won't even know it's happening until it is over. Well?" The man preened. It really was unattractive, Fitzgerald thought. And yet, he had done a brilliant job, so far.

 

Victor sat back and smiled. Well, indeed. "An excellent effort." He praised the reptilian man across from him. He would soon be a free man. Then he could sit back and watch his revenge against Jack Malone unfold, bullet by bullet until Martin, his ungrateful offspring was back in his hands once more.


	21. Chapter 21

Wearily Ducky stripped off the mask and gloves he had worn into the operating room in his role as observer. His hands were sweaty underneath the waterproof nitrile, he felt gummy and sticky. The mask was a bit damp, too, from hours of breathing through it.

 

The operation was a success any way you looked at it. Abby was in the recovery room, doing well, The EEG run at the end of her surgery already showing signs of promise. In a hour or so she would be taken back down to the ICU and the rest of the team would be there to meet her.

 

With the pressure relieved on her brain, Ducky had hopes, not certainties, but very high hopes, that she would regain consciousness. Sooner rather than later for that matter. The brain was a fascinating organ. And while Ducky had never entertained the desire to see the inner workings of Abby's undoubtedly unique brain, he was pleased to have been witness to what he thought of as her first step on the road to recovery.

 

Abby's recovery was not merely the recovery of one individual, but a recovery of at minimum of Abby, Timothy and Ziva, and arguably Gibbs, Dinozzo and Ducky himself. Even Burley, recently returned to the team, had a great fondness for her, and a feeling that she was family, not merely a colleague. But most affected, of course--Abby's two Sentinels. Surprisingly of the two, the one who was currently most incapacitated was Ziva David. The tough ex-Mossad agent had crumbled like a house of cards. Ducky fervently hoped for her full recovery. Timothy....well he was better than Ziva, but devastated none the less. His road would be a long one as well.

 

Standing in the operating room for two hours was more tiring than he remembered. Ducky rubbed his eyes after removing his glasses. Much more so than any autopsy, during autopsy he could move around, talk, and his mind was engaged. Being a spectator was far more draining. He had nothing to offer but the fierce moral support and love he felt for the slender woman on the table. He had watched while other, gifted hands had done their miraculous work. Now came the waiting. Hours? Days? Perhaps weeks. There was no way of telling until it happened. Until Abby woke.

 

He removed the sweat damp scrubs. A quick shower would not go amiss towards refreshing himself and putting his mind in the proper frame to face the others. He'd wished more than once he could wash this horrendous case from him as easily. A change of clothing, was in order. He grabbed a towel and headed into the community showers off the physician's lounge.

 

He found himself experiencing an urge to speak to Blair. A remarkable young man, Doctor Blair Sandburg, and a superb Guide. Shaman, really. Ducky counted himself blessed to have met him. They had a connection, a rapport that was truly extraordinary. Ducky rarely felt moved to physical desire and passion any longer. Love and caring was the more usual emotion he dealt with. But with Blair, he had felt himself once again, surprisingly, engaged. A gentle passion for sure, more sweet than heated, but passion none the less. Ducky missed Blair already, though he had left only today, wishing he had the opportunity one more time to feel the warm arms supporting him.

 

Ducky spun the dials on the shower. Warm water cascaded down. He scrubbed perfunctorily, mostly sluicing off the smell of latex and anesthesia that was the scent of ORs around the world.

 

He dried off and headed to the locker he was using. He dressed in his usual underclothing and comfortable button down shirt and corduroy trousers. When he reached for his jacket he felt something crinkle unexpectedly in his pocket. He was sure he hadn't worn this particular jacket since arriving at the FBI. Puzzled he checked what it was.

 

A single sheet of paper, folded in thirds and neatly creased. He unfolded it and adjusted his glasses, reading it quickly. It wasn't long. A summons for...he checked his watch. My goodness! A summons for one o'clock this past afternoon. Two hours ago! He frowned. How had the paper gotten into his pocket? He had no recollection of it at all. Nor of anyone serving him.

 

He checked the bottom of the page. It bore his signature. But not as he'd ever written it. Someone had forged his signature on the line provided, and not an exemplary effort at all. Ducky put the paper back in his jacket and pulled it on. He was going to get to the bottom of these shenanigans.

 

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Gibbs examined the paper Ducky had handed to him. There were no prints on it but Ducky's, but then he hadn't expected it to be that easy. Someone had been very careful not to leave clues. Stan Burley was beside him looking just as intently at the document as was Gibbs himself.

 

Ducky was insistent that the signature on the paper was not his. His outrage was genuine, not a man who had forgotten, rather a man who knew someone was trying to pull a fast one on him. Ducky's chin had been lifted as he explained, quivering in outraged offense.

 

"That is certainly not my signature. It is a barely credible imitation. Whomever signed it certainly never learned to write in the public school of my youth!" The usually mild mannered man snarled. "Some one has forged my signature!"

 

Gibbs and Tony had managed to calm Ducky with some difficulty shortly after the small man stormed into the waiting room that held all of them as the waited for Abby to be settled. Tim McGee stared at him, but gamely tried to pat him into a semblance of comfort. The young man's mind was clearly on other things. Tony smoothly interceded allowing Tim to go back to the listless Ziva who alternately sat and paced, unaware and uninterested in her surroundings since she had been coaxed away from Abby before surgery.

 

Even Stan braved Ducky's waving arms and fury to crowd close to him and offer physical comfort in the way of Sentinels. Sentinels touched to soothe. Ducky was startled enough by the first such intimate contact that the young man had shared with him in many years to regain control of his temper. He gruffly straightened his collar and cuffs while permitting Stan to pat his back. Tony was going through the rest of Ducky's pockets, not bothering to wait for Ducky to remove the articles of clothing in question.

 

"Anthony!" Ducky jumped and said warningly when a nimble hand stole into one of his front trouser pockets. Tony immediately withdrew the offending digits, but looked frustrated. DiNozzo on the scent was tenacious and impatient. Ducky though, was not going to remove his trousers in the hospital waiting room. Most especially without other clothing to replace them with.

 

Gibbs was coldly furious. It was obvious to him, he knew it in the first instant, that this was not accidental. The first Grand Jury had been scheduled to convene in one month to give the prosecution and the defense time to prepare their cases. Now, without explanation, the time had been moved up to today. The hearing in fact had already been held. Ducky and Blair, both witnesses, had missed it because they hadn't known it was taking place.

 

Gibbs had contacted the courthouse, and been told that the Grand Jury had already left, and filed their finding on the case under consideration. No amount of growling had convinced the young lady to divulge the findings to him over the phone as they had not yet been publicly announced. Gibbs suspected what he'd learn wouldn't make him happy. He had Stan call Malone.

 

Who it turned out wasn't at the office. He was at home, taking a personal day. Along with 'part of his team'. Gibbs took that to mean Danny and Martin. As much as he thought Malone deserved time with his new bond, this took precedence. He dialed Malone's personal line.

 

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"It will wait." Ducky was trying to convince Gibbs. "The time is well after the usual hour that the court would close. No one is going to be there to contact. The morning will be soon enough."

 

"Something should be done now." Was Gibbs' less than controlled response. His teeth ground together. Impatient. Yes, he made Anthony look like the picture of repose when he had a fire lit under him. "They will say we should have filed a grievance today. Just wait, I know these kind of people."

 

And he was right. Ducky accepted it, though it hardly seemed fair to him when he stood in front of the judge's desk at eight the next morning and tried to explain.

 

The man simply wasn't listening and at last Ducky understood he wasn't going to listen. He was part of 'it', whatever 'it' was. Perhaps paid to look the other way. Perhaps he was part of the conspiracy, frightened of being found out. And nothing Ducky or Gibbs said was going to alter that.

 

Ducky led Jethro out of the chambers. This went very high up. Very high.

 

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"Chief?" Detective Jim Ellison called to his Guide. "What is this?" He was going through the side pocket on the outside of Blair's borrowed suitcase, cleaning it out and putting his Guide's clothing in a pile ready to wash. He held up a creased and rumpled sheet of paper.

 

Blair stepped out of the bathroom, tooth brush still in his mouth. "Uh, I don't know?" He offered. "You know I can't see that far, even if I was wearing my glasses."

 

Jim prowled nearer, not a happy Sentinel. "I don't remember you getting this." He spread the sheet out flat on the bathroom counter. "No prints, I checked." He said when Blair bent over it. "Smells like gloves, latex." Which in of itself was strange. why would any clerk or summons messenger use gloves to handle a summons?

 

Blair snapped upright, his response only confirming Jim's suspicions. "I did not get this. I did not sign for it. I've never seen it before in my life." It was his turn to growl. Blair Sandburg did not like to be played or manipulated. And he especially didn't like the idea of rich and powerful men playing with him, or with justice.

 

"I know. Someone is pulling a fast one here." Jim tapped the sheet or paper again. His jaw was jumping. Prelude to an explosion of temper. Blair knew that most of their acquaintances and the general public thought Jim was a cold, hyper controlled man, with no emotions at all. But their close friends knew better. Jim was a man filled with passions. And in private he was more likely to display them than conceal them.

 

Blair spit into the sink, rinsed his mouth and spit again. He had to agree with Jim's assessment. He kept his voice even. "We are going to have to go back. I know it's too late to make the Grand Jury, but we have to go and look these people in the face and tell them we aren't going away." He made eye contact with Rafe. "Can you call for tickets?" He asked, quietly as he reached for a towel.

 

"God damn it, fucking son of a bitch." The uncharacteristic profanity turned Blair all the way around to stare at Jim. The paper was crumpled in his fist.

 

Tiik and Rafe showed up behind Jim, Rafe holding the phone, thumb poised to dial. Tiik looked the same as always, bland and unsurprised, but Rafe's face was shocked. Tiik leaned over and took his husband under his arm, kissing the side of his face. Rafe leaned into the touch, but his eyes never left Ellison.

 

"They are trying to make this go away. Trying to let Fitzgerald Senior get off without paying for what he did to the Guides. Like hell am I going to let them do this." Jim strode stiff legged over to Rafe and snatched the phone out of the shorter man's hand. Blair stared after him for another few seconds, then he hastily scrubbed the remainder of

the toothpaste off his face, and dropping the towel on the floor.

 

Jim was a fair man, a man who believed in the law for the most part. He expected people to obey it. And when they didn't, or worse yet they flaunted their immunity to the law, it flipped the Sentinel's switch. Nothing else worked quite so well in pissing the big man off. And fuck with a Guide....you were toast. Nothing on Earth was more likely to send Ellison's temper off the charts.

 

"I want to talk to Malone." Jim Ellison snarled into the receiver. "I don't care where he is or what he is doing, get him on the phone...." Blair tried to picture the face of the unfortunate who was on the other end of that call. Jim wasn't being fair to whoever it was.

 

"Jim...." Blair began. His Sentinel ignored him. He put his hands on Jim's taut back. The muscles felt like iron bars under Jim's skin. Blair looked over at Tiik and by now, Rafe was more behind Tiik that in front of him. And he looked happy to be there, out of the line of fire.

 

"No, I do not want to leave a message, and I definitely don't want to talk to Agent Johnson...." Jim barked. Blair wound his arms around Jim's waist. He shot a look at Tiik, who frowned unhappily but also headed towards Jim making sure to approach at an angel, not head on, which inevitably triggered Jim's defenses. Twice in a week, Jim losing control or on the edge of it. Not good.

 

Rafe trailed behind Tiik, his head down, posture submissive. Tiik, however was fully upright, his step quick, gliding, smooth as steel. He was suddenly ~there~ close enough to grab. He did, not telegraphing his intent to the distracted Sentinel who was by now shouting into the phone.

 

Blair seized the phone as Tiik's long arms fastened around Ellison, lifting him up off the floor. Jim arched instantly, striking backwards with his head, Tiik avoiding the impact by tilting his head to one side. He twisted Ellison up and to the side, taking the power out of his legs, intent on getting the man on the floor and immobilized. Ellison with room to move was not a good bet. He would get free. 

 

"No, thank you, ma'am,I am sorry." Blair said into the phone as the receptionist spluttered. "Yes, we will call back later. No need to disturb Agent Malone while he is on bonding leave." Blair quietly hung up the phone and turned to his three Sentinels. "Jim? Tiik? Rafe?"

 

They were wrapped up on the floor. Rafe in front of Ellison, Tiik behind him. Rafe's arms were wrapped around Jim's thighs, holding on for all he was worth. Tiik still behind him. And Jim was fighting. Down and dirty fighting. Elbows and fists. Short arcing blows, fast and hard. Tiik was blocking most with his arms, his greater weight also hindering Jim's struggles. Rafe was just confusing the mix. Instinctively Jim would refrain from hitting Rafe hard. Rafe was one of his mates and Rafe was no match for him. Tiik could take it, the rage the fury Jim felt when he was confronted by injustice. Tiik was Ellison's match. Not his superior, no, but he could hold his own.

 

Except when Jim was this angry. Not pulling his blows. Tiik already sported a trickle of blood from one corner of his mouth. This was dangerous. For all of them.

 

Blair leaped on top of the pile of writhing Sentinels.


	22. Chapter 22

Victor frowned at his reflection. He had wanted to wear a suit, impeccably tailored, a perfectly knotted silk tie, he wanted to look in charge and refined. But the publicist insisted on this outrageous get up.

 

He plucked at the lapel of his plainest brocade robe. A rich deep blue in color, it had absolutely no other adornments. And it was over a traditional, appalling hospital gown and drawstring pants. Both white with ugly blue flowers.

 

In addition, the woman had gotten down on her knees herself, which ~was~ interesting, Victor felt a frisson of lust looking down on her bent head bobbing so near to his groin. But she was only down there to wrap yet another bandage around his abused foot.

 

Until the bulky dressing was even more impressive and impossible to miss. She argued that it was for the sympathy factor. Victor growled silently.

 

Then she insisted he be wheeled into the court building but walk with the aid of a cane to the stage. He would look brave, stoic, a strong man knocked down, but not out, struggling to recover. Dignified. The press and the public would eat it up.

 

Victor, understanding the cunt was good at her job if goddamn bossy, agreed imperiously. He wasn't too happy with how he looked. He felt like he was going to be going to a meeting at the FBI in his pajamas, his dick swinging in the wind. No man would be comfortable. It made him feel uneasy.

 

Add to that, the overwhelming feeling he had, almost a premonition that there was something in the air today that he didn't like.

 

Sure, Ellison, that BPS freak had been gotten out of the way along with his meddlesome and far too smart Guide. A Shaman or some such thing. Victor shuddered. No Guide should have that much power, the boy should have been put down as soon as that flaw was discovered. A Guide who could rule over Sentinels was intolerable. And the little prick had shot him in the foot.

 

Then the unforgivable realization that while he was convalescing, his son, his once pure, blue-blood son was being violated, anally defiled by Jack Malone and that gangster Taylor. One more outrage. Victor couldn't stop it. But it was not going to go on much longer. He would get Martin back and under family control or he'd see the boy put out of his misery. He was not going to have a homosexual whore with the Fitzgerald name living that kind of life where anyone could see it.

 

Victor straightened his collar one more time. Smoothed his hair down. Only to have the woman come around and artfully re-dishevel it, simpering at him disapprovingly. She wanted him to look less polished, more approachable, more like a man the pathetic residents of DC could relate to. Imperfect. It was galling. He allowed her to tug his robe a little off kilter. To pull one shoulder crooked, and to mess his hair just enough that it looked like he was an invalid...but not so much it would be obvious he was playing for sympathy. It was a fine line.

 

Victor would be required to just say a few paragraphs, carefully penned for him. Then he was supposed to awkwardly collapse back into the wheelchair the woman would bring up behind him. The same chair she told him he was not going to use to get into the press conference. He was going to heroically push himself to walk to the podium. To convince the viewers of his bravery. Then he would collapse, when they could see what a sacrifice he had made, what his pride and courage had let him do, but which he couldn't do any more.

 

What drivel. But apparently it worked, that kind of manipulation. He didn't use it so much, he preferred intimidation. The sheer force of his personality. He dared anyone to disobey him. And that technique rarely let him down.

 

But now it was time. He levered himself up irritably, leaning on the cane.

 

The reception room doors opened. He limped heavily into the room, moving with slow deliberation and dignity. If they took his grimace for stoic forbearance of pain rather than impatience...well who was to complain?

 

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Jack closed his cellphone. Ellison's team was now in the air. They wouldn't be here until after the press conference. They'd already missed the Grand Jury's refusal to indict Victor Fitzgerald on Guide kidnapping, abuse and assault charges. And Fitzgerald's oily lawyer had dropped hints of future lawsuits to be filed against others. Others responsible for the outrageous claims and charges brought against his blameless client. While Victor, playing the reasonable man, the forgiving man, tried to rein him in.

 

Martin was rigid with outrage, literally incapable of any movement on his own after the verdict was announced. Danny had spirited him into an empty room to offer him comfort and to keep his triumphant father from seeing his son's devastated face. Victor wasn't going to pay for any of it. Not for the secret abuse Martin had suffered all his life, or for the blatant kidnapping attempt that had been witnessed, nor for masterminding the Guide abductions around DC. He was going to get off.

 

Jack Malone felt oddly calm considering it all. He put his phone back into his pocket and waited to be seated for the conference about to unfold. He had no doubt it would be another media circus and manipulation. Another fine choreography by Victor's people. A fine man, unfairly accused.

 

Malone wanted to spit.

 

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The tall man at the podium signaled for silence and got it. The salt and pepper haired mayor of DC cleared his throat.

 

"I am going to skip the usual words of introduction here as our primary speaker, as you all know, is injured and in some pain. I would therefore like to expedite the proceedings. There will be no questions until the end of his statements and pending the approval of his physician." There was an expectant rumble that grew as the sound of a cane quietly tapping the marble floor of the conference area reached through the hushed room.

 

Victor Fitzgerald made his way slowly towards the small dais. All eyes were fixed on him. Laboriously he managed the steps and the mayor nodded.

 

"I give you, Victor Fitzgerald." He forbore the use of titles, moving aside to allow Victor to take his place at the lectern. Victor took a pair of spectacles out of his pocket and put them on his nose. He didn't need them, not really, and he personally thought they made him look utterly ridiculous, but the woman had insisted they made him look sympathetic, grandfatherly and approachable. He gazed out over the assembled mass of humanity.

 

"Hello. I am grateful for your presence here today, and conversely I am grateful to be here. The District has been through a terrible number of months." Victor launched into the unpolished speech that he'd been drilled to give. "All of us, lay and law enforcement alike, have felt the awful pressures of the case bearing down on us. Of the eyes of the rest of the nation and the world on us." He looked around the room, nodding sagely.

 

The room remained dead silent, the press hanging on every word.

 

"Fears have driven us to many conclusions that on more sober reflection, are unwarranted. I understand this and bear no animosity towards those who assumed, falsely that I had anything to do with the criminal kidnapping and abuse of Guides in or around the District of Columbia. I also bear no grudge against the young Guide to mistakenly, and without malice shot me, thinking erroneously that he had to save a fellow Guide from kidnapping. We were in the FBI Building, yet the hysteria that has surrounded all of us, was great enough he felt he had no alternative other than to shoot me. I forgive him for that. As should all of you. He was only doing what he thought was right. He didn't know any better."

 

Victor paused again.

 

"The trauma my son Martin went through seeing me, his father, shot in front of him has been hard for him to overcome. We, myself and his mother, his entire family stand behind him, ready to support him though the counseling he will need over the next months and years of his life. We ask that you allow him the privacy he needs to heal in the care of his family."

 

Victor looked out over the murmuring, nodding crowd. He had them. He kept the smirk off his face by sheer will.

 

"I also ask that you try to give the returned Guides who have been rescued by the heroic efforts of so many, give them the space they need as well. And I caution, especially in light of my own experience of the last few days, that none of us jump to any conclusions, or give more attention to rumors than they deserve. Let the case be tried in a court of law where all the facts can come out. Where true justice can be served."

 

He caught the motion his publicist was making and let himself sway just enough to draw a gasp from the audience. As planned the woman and the doctor beside her rushed forward to support him. The impression was left that there was more Victor wanted to say, but that his condition prevented it.

 

He turned towards the woman as she reached out to him. There was a sound like a grunt, a blow.

 

Glass shards showered down from the stained glass window to the right of the stage, crimson, blue, amber and clear glass filling the air like tiny, twinkling jewels, a deadly, sharp rain. Jack felt them hit his face, biting into his flesh. He heard exclamations all around him. Then cries of shock. He saw other faces dotted with blood.

 

On the stage, Victor Fitzgerald was still standing, a puzzled look on his face and a growing darkness spreading across the white and blue hospital gown that showed between the lapels of his robe.

 

Jack blinked. Then the screaming started and the rush toward the exits.

 

Victor Fitzgerald collapsed to the floor of the stage. His head rolled sluggishly to one side. His eyes looked like marbles. Glassy and without the least expression.

 

Jack Malone stared at the chaos all around him as the room emptied. As the doctor up on the stage with Victor tried to find enough chest wall left to do CPR.

 

Seconds ticked by. The doctor sat back on his heels. Shaking his head. Victor's pooling blood finally reaching the edge of the stage and now dribbling off it onto the marble floor. 

 

Jack stood. He looked around. The room was nearly empty of reporters and others who had been invited to witness the press conference. More law enforcement was rushing the stage. People were pointing up towards the once beautiful, now ruined window so high up on the wall. It lay all around them, in a million pieces on the floor.

 

Jack took his badge out of his pocket and opened it, tucking it into his chest pocket where it could been seen. He slowly made his way through the remaining people who were milling about the exit door. He stepped into the hall and walked down it to the left. Towards where he knew Danny and Martin were.

 

Danny got to his feet when the door opened, putting himself aggressively in front of Martin, until he saw it was Jack. He relaxed, then frowned. Jack removed his jacket, tossed the glass riddled garment aside.

 

"That was a very short press conference." Danny offered as Jack made his way over to Martin and pulled the younger man's face against his body. He caressed the soft brown waves of hair. Jack held his free arm out to Danny. Danny came to him. Jack held the other Sentinel, pressing them together, all three of them.

 

"Your face, Jack." Danny protested. "You are bleeding."

 

Jack drew in a deep breath.

 

"Victor Fitzgerald is dead. He was shot by a sniper."

 

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The sniper wasted no time in disassembling his weapon. He left it where it lay.

 

It had been a good choice for the job. High precision, accurate and a familiar weapon. He had used it many times. He might have used it on Jack Malone instead of Victor Fitzgerald. One never could predict these things. They worked out as they worked out.

 

He left the rifle behind without a backward glance.

 

He climbed down the side of the building into the narrow alley. He was already three blocks from the press conference.

 

Before anyone had cordoned off the area and started the man hunt, he was six blocks outside of the search area, walking leisurely.

 

Then he was twelve blocks.

 

Then he was too far to ever be found.

 

End


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